


Kiss Kiss Fall in Love

by CinnaAtHeart



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bisexual Male Character, Bucky needs better friends, F/M, Identity Porn, Idiots in Love, Pining, Smut, Steve and bucky share the captain America title, Uniform Kink, You can blame usedkarma for this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7424530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaAtHeart/pseuds/CinnaAtHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Darcy Lewis kisses Captain America and one time Bucky Barnes kisses her instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take a Picture; It'll Last Longer

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct result of [usedkarma's post](http://cinnaatheart.tumblr.com/post/147079732037/the-sassy-mime-cinnaatheart-awwheartno) on tumblr and I am so mad that I have to write this you guys. So mad.  
> I mean, it's great because yay more fic, but less great BECAUSE I'M THE IDIOT STUCK WRITING IT GODDAMMIT
> 
> So in this 'verse, Bucky and Steve shared the role of Captain America, and their identities remain a national secret. Only the Avengers know who they are. Both men were in the Valkyrie when it crashed.

“Captain America?”

He pauses, muscles straining and not for the first time, wishes he had Steve’s brand name version of the super soldier serum. It would make pretending to be the same bloke a hell of a lot easier. As it is, he’s exhausted- the kind of bone deep tired that makes you want to lie in bed for a week, and the last thing he wants to do is stick around for the clean-up effort or talk to curious bystanders.

Bucky tilts his head to get a look at the woman speaking to him, ready to tell her to get out of the way or start helping and almost drops his boulder. She’s fucking _beautiful_ ; dark hair, generous proportions and a face made for smiling. He straightens a little despite himself, clearing his throat.

“Ma’am?”

The young woman smiles shyly, red lips a little smudged around the corners of her mouth. Now that he looks closer, he spies dust in her hair and chipped nails, her patent leather boots scuffed irreparably. There is a long tear up the side of her tight skirt, her knees bleeding. He sets the rock down on the ground carefully. “Are you okay ma’am? Do you need any help?”

She laughs, brushing away his concerns casually, as though used to this kind of thing. “I’m okay,” she says breezily, and flips her dusty hair over her shoulder. “Just a few scratches; nothing a band-aid or five won’t fix,” she frowns slightly, glancing down at her bloodied knees, “and maybe a tetanus shot.”

Bucky glances over to the paramedics, wondering if he should send her over to them. Probably not; he hears health care is even less affordable now than in the forties. He catches sight of Barton, head tilted as he watches their interaction. “Then can I help you with something?”

She steps closer, a determined look in her eyes. Bucky is familiar with that look; Steve used to get it when told he couldn’t do something. Bucky still has nightmares about That Look. “You can, actually,” she purrs and he is acutely aware that he is now in Big Trouble- it’s what got them into the Captain America gig in the first place. Bucky swallows nervously as she steps towards him again. She doesn’t seem like a threat, but he doesn’t know what she _wants_. “It’s something only _you_ can help me with, Captain.”

“That so?” he says, shuffling backwards only a little, and the woman grins at him, holding up a scratched phone.

“Can I have a selfie?”

That is- _not_ what Bucky was expecting her to ask.

He blanks for a moment on what she means by ‘selfie’- he’s still trying to get his head around all the modern lingo- and the woman must take his silence as an assent because she looks down at her phone, unlocking it with a swipe of her thumb. She navigates the rubble between them easily and draws in close, holding up her phone. An image of the both of them reflects back at him and the term clicks in his mind.

Bucky smiles before she takes a photo of him looking like a fool and the woman coos approvingly. She puts an arm around his shoulder and on instinct Bucky rests his gently on her waist, very much Not Thinking about the sharp slope down to her hips. Generous proportions indeed.

“Beautiful,” she says, beaming up at the phone. “Now say, ‘take that Jane’.”

“Take that Jane,” Bucky parrots, and gives the camera his winning Captain America smile. It clicks and the frozen image crumples, replaced again with the camera feed.

“One more for luck?” she asks, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Bucky smiles and shrugs easily at her.

“Sure, Doll,” he drawls, a hint of his Brooklyn accent bleeding into his speech and she blinks, cheeks pinking ever so slightly on the camera feed.

“Bless you, Cap,” she murmurs, and moves to kiss his cheek but Bucky, unsure of what she’s doing, turns his face towards her and her soft lips brush against his, sending a thrill of _something_ down his spine _exactly_ as the shutter clicks.

“ _Oh_.” The woman recoils, shocked, and Bucky blinks back at her dumbly.

“Uh.”

“I’m so-”

“No-no! It’s my-”

“Oh my God. I just kissed Captain America.”

Bucky clears his throat again. Oh _God_ he hopes Barton didn’t see that. Or worse- _Stark_. “I’m uh- I’m sorry about that ma’am.”

The woman waves her hand, still staring at him as though he’s offered her his hand in marriage. “It’s fine,” she says dazedly. She glances down at her phone, tapping at it and her mouth falls open. “Oh wow,” she breathes, staring down at their kiss, captured for all eternity on her cell phone. “ _Wow_. Wait until Jane gets a look of that!” She cackles, looking slightly cracked and Bucky glances off to the side. Barton is blessedly nowhere to be seen. “That is so awesome! Oh dude, this is _so_ going on Facebook!”

She laughs again, already absorbed by her phone and he scratches the back of his neck. Bucky has a vague recollection of someone in PR telling him to try and keep out of the spotlight. “Uh-”

“Oh!” she looks up at him, flushing. “Um- thanks, sir. I- uh- really appreciate it.” Her sudden smile is wolfish and Bucky’s stomach flops at the sight of it. “You just won me fifty bucks.”

He can’t help but laugh at that, and stands up a little straighter. “Glad to help,” he says, and because- uniform or not- he’s an asshole, he winks at her. The flush deepens and the woman runs away, giving him one last wave in thanks as she disappears around the corner of a building.

It’s not until she’s gone that he realises this area is cordoned off.

“How’d she get in here?” he muses to himself, and damn near shits himself when Natasha materialises beside him, inexplicably chewing on some gum.

“Beats me,” she says glibly. His eyes narrow.

“Where’d you get that gum from?”

“What gum?” she asks, and blows a bubble.

“Aw Nat!” Clint whines, suddenly materialising on his other side. Bucky jumps, cursing loudly and causing more than a few of the workers around them to glance their way. “Are you holding out on me?”

Natasha shrugs at him, and pulls another stick from her belt. “Always, Barton.”

“What is that- tutti-fruity? Gimme some!”

“Sorry,” she tells him, and pops the unwrapped gum in her mouth. “There’s none left.”

Barton makes an insulted noise and Bucky shakes his head, staring up at the heavens as though somehow it can deliver him from these assholes. How Steve manages to put up with them is beyond him, honestly.

“By the by,” Barton pipes up, and Bucky prepares himself. “Who was the hottie with the,” he motions at his chest area and Natasha rolls her eyes, making a sound of disgust at his lewdness. “She was familiar… she a heartthrob of yours, Cap?”

Bucky turns away and bends down to pick up his rock. “She wanted a selfie.”

Barton laughs. “That’s not all she wanted, I’ll bet.”

“Oh and you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you Hawkeye?” Bucky grunts, shifting the rock in his grip a little. If anything it feels even heavier that before. “Considering all the pretty dames clamouring for _your_ attentions.”

“Hey!” Clint squawks in outrage. His lack of fangirls is a sore spot- even Natasha gets more women than him (much to her everlasting glee). “I get plenty of attentions, thank you very much!”

“It’s true,” Natasha agrees. “Just yesterday he had to run away from a vicious pack of elderly dogs.”

Clint gapes at her. “I thought we agreed never to speak of that!” he hisses. Natasha smirks at him.

“No. _You_ agreed to never speak of it. I never said anything.”

“You are the absolute worst! Wait ‘til I tell Steve abou-”

“You do that,” Natasha interrupts him, and when she smiles, there’s a deadly glint in her eye that promises pain and misery. “But have fun trying to masturbate without your dick.”

“Alright you two,” Bucky sighs, putting on his Captain’s voice. He certain if they keep bickering someone with a recording device will hear them and America’s most deadly assassins will be exposed for the children that they are. “Get back to work. Give the rescue crews a hand before we gotta ship out.”

Barton pouts at him. “Party pooper.”

Natasha shrugs eloquently and moves as if to walk away, but she pauses, looking over her shoulder at him. “Next time a fan kisses you, Cap,” she drawls, eyes sparkling with amusement, “make sure you get a bit of tongue in for the cameras. Oh, and you’ve got lipstick- here.” She motions to the corner of his mouth.

Bucky closes his eyes for a long moment, and stoically ignores Barton’s hysterical laughter.

He needs a better job.


	2. Thank God You're Here

Months pass.

Life goes on as usual, with low-key skirmishes against the villain of the week, and Bucky and Steve share the Captain America mantle like they’ve always done. Sometimes- depending on the scale and needs of the fight- Bucky accedes to Steve and plays the Winter Soldier’s role, sticking to the sidelines with his rifle and his unwavering aim. Their identities remain a secret, as always.

Thor comes back at some point, and with him come several stipulations; including a request to house his girlfriend and her assistant. Stark is more than happy to comply; apparently, Foster is some kind of scientific genius, and if there’s one thing Stark is good at, it’s hoarding brilliant minds and talent, like some kind of ridiculous techno-dragon in his cave of glass and metal. Bucky’s yet to meet Foster- he and Steve have only just came back from a week long covert assignment after Steve got his idiot leg broken falling from a building, so Bucky’s mostly moved between med bay and his apartment since they got back.

Steve’s leg is still under the weather when the emergency call comes through; in New York, which makes a welcome change from gallivanting all over the world in that bloody quinjet. Bucky suits up quickly, flipping Steve the bird before he leaves and meets the Avengers up in the common room.

“What’ve we got?”

Natasha sighs, flicking through the feeds with a practiced ease. “Doombots. Again.”

“You’d think he’d try something else,” Tony notes, gaze preoccupied on his own tablet. “I thought this guy was meant to be a genius or something.”

“Well he’s also insane,” Bruce notes, pushing his glasses up his nose absently. Bucky hopes to God they don’t need to use him today, but they normally include him in the briefing just in case.

“Maybe he bought in bulk,” Clint offers. Stark nods, looking half convinced.

Bucky squares his shoulders, and studies the monitors carefully. “Right,” he says, zooming in on the altercation. It’s down in _Queens_ of all places. “Stark, Barton, you take them from the south; Thor, Natasha and I will come down from the north, herd them down to you. Try to keep them as contained as possible. You guys all know the drill by now- aim for spots between the armor, try to kill them before they explode.” He squints at the information still flooding in. Apparently there’s already some punk in a spider-suit on the scene. “Looks like the cops have people control covered, but be aware of civilians all the same. And there’s some guy called-”

“Spiderman,” Stark supplies, and Bucky sighs heavily. He swings the shield over his shoulders and the magnetic clasps lock into place. “The papers have been calling him Spiderman. Or the Spider Menace. Not entirely sure if he’s actually on our side or not; kinda mixed reviews.”

“What is it with supers and animal names?” Bucky grumbles, and fits the helmet over his head with practiced ease. Natasha and Barton glare at him and he inwardly cackles. “Back in my day,” he ignores their answering groans- it one of his favourite things to do, “you didn’t find anyone feeling the need to liken themselves to animals.”

“No Cap,” Barton drawls, tossing his quiver and bow over his shoulder as they jog out to the quinjet. Seems kind of superfluous to Bucky, but whatever. “You guys just wanted to run around in flags and go ‘pew pew’.”

“They served a purpose,” he snarks back, though inwardly he agrees. He’s always hated the uniform. “People needed nationalism- or the principle of it, at least. And besides- Hydra guns don’t go ‘pew pew’. More like ‘pew _boom_ ’.”

Tony spares the pair of them a look of rampant disgust. “Jesus. And you call _us_ the children.”

Bucky smirks at him. They pack into the jet and Clint flies them out to the drop off zone, hovering several feet off the ground. Bucky pulls the shield from his back and pats his pistol- twice for good luck. “Right,” he says, half to himself. He squares his shoulders and Natasha joins him by his side. “Let’s kill some fucking Doombots.”

Bucky only just manages to catch Stark turning to Clint as he jumps out of the jet. “Still feels like sacrilege to hear him say ‘fuck’.”

 

* * *

 

The fight goes about as well as to be expected. Doom’s apparently still not learnt that durability is key and the bots are relatively easy to destroy. There are _lots_ of them however, and Bucky can’t shake the feeling that they’re _herding_ the people still left around. The theory puts his teeth on edge- he can only imagine what Doom would want to do with all the people that have been herded into one of the subway stations, and none of them are good.

He voices his concerns over the comms and Natasha and Stark confirm his worst fears.

“ _Don’t know what they want those people for Cap,_ ” Stark says. Bucky’s grip tightens on his shield and he aims a particularly vicious swing at a bot. Its head goes flying and clatters to the ground. He and Natasha are the closest ones to the station. “ _No- wait- shit. They’ve got incoming; looks like a- double shit. Cap, you and Widow might want to step on it, ‘cause there’s a train heading for that station and I am ninety percent certain it’s not there for the business commute.”_

Mass kidnappings. Wonderful.

“On it,” Bucky grunts, and picks up the pace. Natasha’s not far behind and Bucky launches himself at the pack of Doombots gathered around the subway entrance. He tears into them with a vengeance, slamming them with the shield and tearing at them with his bare hands. Half of them lie in crumpled heaps on the ground by the time Widow reaches them and they quickly dispatch the rest, working together to tear the remainders apart, reducing them to nothing more than scrap metal.

He shares a pleased look with Widow and she smiles back at him tightly, nodding down at the entrance. The lights have been turned off and they can faintly make out the sounds of many terrified civilians. “Care to do the honours?” she asks, sounding just _barely_ out of breath.

Bucky fetches the shield and ventures forth.

He can feel the change in temperature immediately- the subways are infamous for their searing temperatures, even back in the forties- and the press of captured civilians and Doombots does nothing but compound the problem. He can hear the sound of people, murmuring and crying to each other fearfully and Bucky swallows down his fury. It just ain’t right.

“ _Please enter the train_ ,” he catches the Doombots saying in chorus, the sound reverberating through the underground and echoing off the walls. The mob of people grows louder, their fear and anger transforming into yells and irate shouts. “ _You will not be harmed,_ ” the bots continue, unaffected. “ _Please enter the train. You will not be harmed._ ”

“Like fucking hell we will!” a woman shouts. “I’ve studied enough history to know how this game goes! Fuck you!” Others join her dissent and Bucky readies himself for trouble as he rounds the corner, just in time to catch a woman tasing a Doombot in the neck. He sucks in a sharp breath as it crumples to the ground and the crowd erupts into applause and shouts of approval.

“Damn,” he grunts, watching in trepidation as the lights on the other Doombots shift from green to red in alarm, sensing the unrest of their prisoners. “Get down!” he shouts at them, and flings the shield straight for the bot that points its weapon at the woman with the taser. She ducks, just in time, and the shield wedges itself into its neck, sending sparks and pieces of metal through the crowd.

The station erupts into chaos and Bucky and Natasha are hard-pressed reaching the other bots as the crowd scatters, screaming and terrified, around them. Some have the sense to guide others back out of the station, but some turn on the bots, beating at them ineffectually with handbags and weapons they _really_ shouldn’t have. Shots fly through the confined space- from bolts of electricty and bullets alike- and Bucky grits his teeth as a stray shot grazes his thigh, white hot pain lancing through his body.

“Jesus Christ,” he growls, just as the unidentified train pulls into the station. He tears another bot’s head from its neck, using it to swing at the one trying to jump him from behind, sending both crashing into the still-moving train. He slams his boot down on its head, crushing the wiring and more sparks go flying. “We need reinforcements in here!”

“ _Already on it_ ,” Hawkeye voices over the comms. “ _ETA two minutes._ ” Bucky slams the shield into the gut of another bot and tears out its inner workings with his metal hand. He hopes he doesn’t end up tearing the latex glove again.

“Make it one!”

“ _Cease your fire!_ ” A robotic voice sounds through the subway station, several decibels above anything he’s used to and Bucky looks up on instinct. He freezes and the bedlam around him stills, all attention turned to the speaker.

A Doombot stares at him, eyes red like the pits of hell. In its arm it holds the woman with the taser, its weapon arm aimed at her head, point blank range.

“Damn,” he breathes, taking in the scene with wide eyes. The woman appears frozen in the bot’s grip, pale hands clutching at the arm wrapped around her neck. Blood runs down the side of her face from a cut on her forehead, and there are tears in the knees of her jeans- pale blue fabric stained with red.

“ _Cease your fire,_ ” the Doombot repeats, “ _Or the girl dies._ ”

A look of intense hatred flashes across the woman’s face and she starts struggling, hands scrabbling ineffectually at its arm. “Fuck you!” she snarls, and the bot presses its weapon against the side of her head. She goes very still, eyes bulging in shock and fear.

“ _Cease your fire, or the girl dies._ ”

Bucky squares his shoulders, holding out his hands, free of weapons. Idiot fucking Doombots. “No one’s shooting. Let her go.”

The bot’s head swivels, taking in the ruined station. It re-evaluates. “ _Stand down, or the girl dies_. _We will take your people and leave._ ”

The woman shakes her head minutely, staring at Bucky pleadingly. Fuck he hates hostage situations. “Don’t do it,” she orders him, voice wavering.

“ _You will stand down, or the girl dies_. _We will take our people and leave._ ”

Bucky swallows. Steve is so much better in these kinds of circumstances; why’d he have to break his goddamn leg? “What do you want the people for?” he tries, aiming to at least stall things.

“ _You will stand down, or the girl dies_. _We will-_ ”

“-Take your people and leave, yeah yeah we get it. But _why_? What’s Doom want them for? And why New York? Why pick a city with a resident team of supers?”

The Doombot presses the gun harder against the girl’s temple and she makes a faint sound of protest. “ _The plans of Doctor Doom are not your concern_ ,” it says woodenly. Around him, the surviving bots begin capturing the remaining people. “ _You will stand down, or the girl will-_ ”

It breaks off, and Bucky breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of the arrow that embeds itself in the middle of the bot’s forehead. The lights in its eyes fade to black and the Doombot’s grip turns limp. The woman, sensing her moment of freedom, slings its arm away from her and tumbles to the ground, kicking at its legs and it falls backwards with a resounding crash. Bucky runs to her as Hawkeye and Widow take care of the rest of the bots.

“Ma’am?” he crouches down beside the woman- she seems to be on the verge of hyperventilating. “Are you alright?”

Her hands clench against the dirty ground, fingernails chipped and broken. “Not really,” she gasps, and Bucky touches her shoulder tentatively. The woman twists towards his touch, arms reaching up to wrap tightly around his chest. Caught by surprise, Bucky falls onto his ass and the woman follows like a limpet, all but falling into his lap. “That was really fucking scary,” she breathes, face hot against his neck. Her words break him from his shock and he embraces her gently, squeezing her softly.

“It’s alright now, Doll,” he reassures her, the words almost second nature after living with his sisters. God, he misses them. Her hair gets into his mouth and he clears his throat, patting her shoulder carefully. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a few cuts and bruises,” she murmurs, and pulls away. Bucky moves to let her go and freezes in shock when soft lips press against his. It’s nothing special really- just an ungraceful brush of skin on skin, their noses nocking against each other awkwardly- but it sends a thrill through him all the same; it’s been eons since he last kissed a dame.

“Thank-you,” she breathes, and the woman clutches at the back of his shoulder straps, body pressing against his as she tilts her head, lips moving against his with far more finesse this time and something in him thinks- _fuck it_ \- and his hands return to her waist, kissing her back with enthusiasm. He closes his eyes and loses himself in the kiss, chasing the taste of her against his lips. She makes a soft sound when his tongue brushes against her upper lip and lets him delve into her mouth with little resistance. He touches her tongue with his and she makes that sound again. Utterly maddening. She tastes faintly of tutti-fruity gum and he breathes out heavily, hands tightening on her waist-

“ _Ahem_.”

They break apart, redfaced and panting. Widow stands a couple of feet away, looking far too amused for her own good. “Having fun?”

The woman grins, and now that Bucky can see her properly, he realises there’s something familiar about her- the red curl of her lips sticking in his memory. “Yes, thanks,” the woman purrs, looking entirely blasé about the fact that the Black Widow has interrupted her heated make-out with Captain America.

Widow crosses her arms, corner of her mouth curling into a smirk. _Fuck_. “I hate to interrupt, but the Captain’s needed.”

The woman pouts, but leaves his arms anyway. “That’s a damn shame.”

“It is,” Widow agrees “You looked like you were enjoying yourselves.” Bucky coughs awkwardly and stands. He holds out his hand to help the woman up, but she ignores it, rising with only a little difficulty. Bucky takes his hand back, feeling like a fool now that it’s all said and done. Natasha’s gaze flickers between the two of them, gaze calculating and Bucky doesn’t doubt for a moment that she’s somehow managed to take pictures of this.

“Ma’am,” he says to the woman before Widow can say something else. His admirer smiles back at him. She doesn’t even look embarrassed.

“Duty calls,” she purrs, and Natasha hands him back the shield. Bucky watches the expression on her face to morph into something less confident. She bites her lip and Bucky is utterly entranced by the indent her teeth make on her lower lip. “And thank you. Again.”

“Any time,” he says on autopilot.

Her answering smile is wicked, and the recognition clicks in his mind. She’s _that_ woman. Selfie girl. “I do hope so,” she smirks, and with that, turns around and jogs out of the station before he can muster the brain facilities to call her back.

God

_Dammit_.

A long and drawn out moment of silence. Natasha stares at him as though waiting for him to say something. Bucky studiously avoids her gaze.

“She seemed nice,” Widow finally says. Bucky closes his eyes and breathes in deeply.

“Yep.”

“Good to see she’s okay.”

“Mhm.”

“Very gentlemanly of you to check that she was alright.”

“Ahuh.”

“Not sure how much you could tell with your mouth though.”

Bucky squares his jaw and glares at her. “We are not talking about this again.”

Natasha blinks at him, uncaring. “Tell me Cap; that the your first real kiss since 1945?”

“No,” he lies. If Widow sees straight through him, she at least has the grace not to prod further, but there’s still a look of smugness to her gaze. Bucky sighs heavily. “You took pictures, didn’t you.”

“Oh Cap.” Her answering smile is slow and sharklike. “ _So many pictures_.”

Bucky sighs again. Fan-fucking-tastic.

 

* * *

 

“Ah, friend Steve, I believe you have not met my companions.”

Bucky looks up from his novel, eyebrow raised at the booming voice from the kitchens, at decibels that can only be from one man. He hears Steve clear his throat. “Ah- no. I don’t think we have.”

“We?” Thor asks, voice brightening. “You have company, my friend?”

Bucky peeks over the edge of the sofa, curious. A woman stands beside him, hand clasped in his- Doctor Foster, he presumes. The other stands beh-

Oh.

Oh damn.

“Friend James!” Thor exclaims, looking overjoyed to come across both of them at once. “How fare you this fine afternoon?!”

The plates in his arm whirrs.

“I’m great thanks Thor,” he rasps eventually. “Everything is just hunky dory.”

He can’t drag his eyes away from her. She looks so different and yet exactly the same without the stress of battle leaving its mark. There’s no sign of her cuts or bruises Her lips are a familiar deep red, but she wear thin-framed glasses this time around, the amusement from the first time he met her back with a vengeance. She wears tights and a summery dress that emphasises certain assets extremely well and Bucky’s mind fills with the memory of her warmth and the taste of tutti-fruity gum.

She glances over to him, and Bucky watches in mute horror as the woman he rather heatedly made out with two and a half weeks ago utterly and completely fails to recognise him.

Double Damn.

“Who’re your friends?” he asks weakly, and finally manages to tear his eyes away from her before he ends up looking like an absolute creep. He doesn’t know what do- should he tell her? Should he not tell her? The identity(s) of Captain America are a national secret- worth of a treason charge if given out. Nomad and the Winter Soldier on the other hand…

“These are my companions,” Thor carries on, oblivious to Bucky’s sudden and unexpected existential crisis. “The lovely and most-accomplished Doctor Jane Foster,” the woman in question rolls her eyes at the address. “And my shield-sister; the most capable Darcy Lewis. They have been researching in Norway these past two weeks, but were most eager to meet the last of the Tower’s residents.”

Darcy.

Her name is _Darcy_.

“That so?” he breathes, wondering if he comes across as off-kilter as he feels. Steve glances at him in confusion; he knows about the kiss- no thanks to Natasha- but he obviously doesn’t recognise her from the photographs.

Thor, Jane and Darcy come around the side of the sofa and Bucky clear his throat. “James Barnes. Most people call me Bucky.”

“Bucky it is then,” Darcy smiles at him brightly and holds out her hand. He takes it gingerly, but there’s no spark of recognition. No realisation or finger pointing. Just a sly smile and a once over that feels supremely gratifying. “Pleasure,” she says, voice a little hoarse, as though she’s been shouting, and Bucky bites the inside of his cheek even as he smiles back at her. He wants to shout their ‘history’ to the world and yet also run as far away as humanly possible.

“So what do you and Steve do?” Foster asks. Steve huffs a laugh and scratches the back of his head and Bucky takes charge before his non-existent lying skills screw things up. “We’re Shield consultants,” he explains. “Like Stark, we work on a case by case basis.”

Thor regards him with a thoughtful eye and Bucky is reminded that the big guy knows far more than he ever lets on. “James and Steve are known as the Winter Soldier and Nomad,” he rumbles, and understanding lights both women’s eyes.

“You’re the guy with the metal arm! The hot sniper!” Darcy exclaims, clicking her fingers.

He smirks, unsure of how he feels about being known as ‘the hot sniper’, but at least it’s likely to get up Barton’s ass. “The very one.”

“It’s a nice piece of engineering,” she goes on, and there’s a familiar look in her gaze- the kind Stark gets when looking at his arm for too long. “Is it a prototype?”

“Uh- yeah. So they tell me.”

She hums. “Look forward to them getting on the market. My uncle is a Vet,” she explains. Bucky nods dumbly.

Jane makes a displeased noise, staring down at her cell phone. “Stark wants us down at the labs,” she groans. “Another toy, apparently.”

Darcy sighs heavily and turns her gaze heavenwards. Bucky empathises. “Science waits for no woman,” she grumbles. He grins.

“We’re used to it by now. Attention spans of goldfish.”

“So true,” she huffs a laugh. “See you around Barnes; Rogers.”

“Great to meet you,” Steve says, dipping his head at them. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“Don’t let Stark try untested tech on you,” Bucky jokes and Darcy cackles.

“No guarantees,” she snickers and with that the trio leaves, lift doors closing silently behind them.

There is a moment of silence. Bucky finds himself wishing she was back here already, so he could moon over her like a lunatic.

“So,” Steve drawls, turning to send a shit-eating grin at Bucky. “That’s her, isn’t it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s totally her,” Natasha say, materialising in the kitchen and causing both of them to jump. Bucky wonders- not for the first time- if the woman has some kind of magic.

“Go away, Tasha.”

The punk has the audacity to laugh at him. “Wow. You gonna ask her out, Buck? Ask her to be your best gal?”

“Barton’s already started a betting pool.”

“Yeah? What are the stakes?”

Bucky closes his eyes and inwardly counts down from three. “I hate all of you.”

“Barton reckons by Christmas, but I don’t think he’ll get the guts ‘til at least New Year’s,” she carries on, ignoring him completely.

“I hope you all die in a fire,” he grumbles, and picks up his book from the sofa. He stalks through the kitchen, sneakers silent on the tiles.

“Aw- where ya goin’ Buck?”

“Don’t care. Away from you assholes.”

Steve snorts. “Well make sure you give your girl a smile if you see her. I reckon I’ll put my money on Thanksgiving.”

“Go jump outta plane, Rogers.”

Their merciless laughter follows him all the way out to the lifts.


	3. Don't Be a Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greenwich happens. Also porridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS FOR VIOLENCE IN THIS CHAPTER.**
> 
> I know I didn't originally have a warning for that on here but I've changed that now. It's nothing extreme- like, it's no murder/torture porn- but I am describing the kind of action you'd expect in any marvel movie against the typical bad guys and Bucky Barnes as the main protag, so... proceed with caution. Is all I'm saying. Because I love ya'll and I want you to take care of yourselves <3 <3 <3

He doesn’t see her again for an entire week, and _maybe_ it’s because he’s avoiding her, but then again maybe it’s because he’s been busy with other things (or _maybe_ it’s because he’s been busy with other things so he _has_ an excuse to avoid her, but by this point Bucky is resigned to the utter shambles of a life he lives now). Not for the first time he wonders where the smooth mover of the 40s has gone, and if maybe all those years under the ice really did cause some kind of brain damage because honestly he’s started to become more like _Steve_ \- helpless and utterly hopeless around a beautiful dame.

His hard work avoiding Darcy lasts an entire seven days before bursting in the bitter flames of failure. He’s sneaking upstairs- in search of ice-cream because Steve is an _asshole_ and never replaces what he finishes- when he hears the tell-tale sounds of someone rummaging through the kitchen. They- a woman- hum to themselves as they clatter around in the cupboards. Bucky proceeds with caution; he’s all too familiar with the trigger-happy dispositions of his teammates- has more than a few to add himself. He raps loudly on the doorjamb, and the woman curses. Pans clatter together as she drops them and her head pops up over the counter. The thunderous look on her face clears into something more embarrassed.

“Hi!” she says, voice falsely bright and sweet. “Bucky, isn’t it?”

He smiles- a reflex reaction- and swallows around the sudden and inexplicable dryness in his throat. “Got it in one.” Bucky glances at the small collection of ingredients on the marble counter. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Darcy bites her lip, amused. Bucky counts it as a win. “Insomnia and a hankering for comfort food.”

He tilts his head, curious. “What kind of comfort food has oats in it?”

Darcy hums and bends down again to fetch a saucepan. “Porridge,” she says, voice echoing slightly into the cupboard and Bucky laughs, startled and amused all at once.

“What?”

She slams her chosen pot on the counter and levers herself up, glaring at him. Bucky’s eyebrows rise despite himself. “Don’t go knocking porridge, dude!” she growls, and Bucky holds his hands up in placation.

“Hey now- I didn’t mean no harm, sweetheart,” he murmurs, venturing into the common room proper. He motions at one of the stools tucked beneath the benchtop and Darcy nods warily. “But in my experience, oatmeal’s been the _opposite_ of comfort food.” He shudders just thinking of the sludge inflicted on him during the war. Fucking awful; it always was.

The offended look on her face clears as he sits. “Guess you’ve just had the wrong kind of porridge,” she hums and he smirks, leaning back into the stool.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. My grandparents are Scottish; it’s my granddad’s specialty.”

Bucky finds himself mirroring her fond smile, and he watches silently as she measures out the oats, water and salt. She moves around the kitchen gracefully, as though aware of everything around her and where it all belongs. Bucky’s ma was the same; he used to love watching her cook dinner when he was young, humming to half-forgotten tunes as she made them dinner out of whatever they could afford at the time. God, but he misses her something awful.

“-ucky?”

He blinks out of his reverie. “Uh- pardon?”

Darcy bites at her plush bottom lip and he tries his best to avoid watching the motion like a pervert. “I said, what’s got you up so late, anyway?”

“Oh.” He laughs self-depreciatingly. “I- uh- I don’t tend to sleep much.” Not necessarily a lie, but certainly not the whole truth either. Thanks to the serum, he and Steve can go days without needing to sleep, and Bucky often finds himself waking in the early hours of the morning, feeling as restful as though he’d slept a full eight hours. He likes to act as cheery as possible in the mornings; mostly because the rest of the tower are the exact opposite of morning people.

Darcy nods at his answer and doesn’t pry further, turning her attentions back to the saucepan, stirring it with the handle of a wooden spoon. The silence between them grows, and Bucky- feeling awkward- clears his throat.

“So how long have you known Thor and Doctor Foster?”

“Oh,” she laughs, “ _ages._ I started working with Jane back in college; I needed the science credits and it was kinda late notice but _apparently_ ,” her voice turns derisive and she sends him a ‘would you believe it?’ look, “not many science students are interested in working for a lady scientist with breakthrough theories in astrophysics. Or at least- they weren’t back then.”

“But they are now?”

She laughs loudly and without mirth. “Oh buddy, you betcha! You should _see_ how many requests I gotta turn down! Some of them are real pieces of work!” Darcy picks up the salt grinder and adds a good amount to the porridge. Bucky watches on dubiously. “But anyway, I was with Janey when Thor landed on Earth and Loki decided that having his brother exiled wasn’t a surefast way to secure himself the throne.”

She clears her throat. “But that was a couple of years ago now. Thor’s been in and out of our lives for a good while- which is probably for the best really, because him and Jane tend to fuck like rabbits when he _does_ turn up and frankly I don’t think I could deal with them together for longer than a month at a time. Because buddy, let me tell you- they are _that_ couple.”

If Bucky had been drinking something, he’s certain he’d have choked on it by now. Instead he finds himself blinking at her, startled by her irreverence; that is _far more_ information than he needs to know about his team mate. “I can see how that might get on your nerves,” he rasps, and Darcy snorts. She abandons the pot to fetch two bowls. “Thor can be very-”

“Enthusiastic?”

Bucky wrinkles his nose, trying _not_ to imagine his teammate and Doctor Foster doing the horizontal tango. “I was going to say loud, but okay.”

Darcy huffs a soft laugh and turns off the stovetop, carefully pouring the porridge into the bowls. With a tablespoon she scatters a generous amount of raw sugar over both and Bucky watches the sugar dissolve quickly, golden liquid pooling on the oatmeal’s uneven surface.

“Porridge à la Lewis,” she says with an artful flourish, and promptly drowns one of the bowls with milk. The undissolved sugar floats to the top of the mix. Bucky takes the bowl she offers him cautiously and Darcy hops up onto the counter.

“Thank-you,” he murmurs, and she smiles at him brightly.

“It’s no problem; it wasn’t hard to make extra,” she says breezily, and mixes the milk into her meal. Bucky copies her warily. “The milk cools it down,” she explains, “and adds a bit of creaminess, because according to granddad, ‘ye cannae make porridge wi’ milk’!”

Bucky laughs loudly at her attempt at a Scottish accent; it’s horrid- more Irish than anything. “ _Wow_ ,” he drawls. Darcy grins at him, unrepentant.

“I’m good, right?”

“Good is… _not_ the word I’d use.”

She rolls her eyes, pinking slightly. “Okay, so accents _aren’t_ a strength of mine.”

“Ye can say that again, lass,” Bucky says in a perfect Scottish brogue and Darcy’s mouth drops open in surprise. It morphs quickly into mock-disapproval.

“See now, that’s just rude!” she points at him with her spoon accusingly. “Here I am, just an innocent girl making you breakfast at three in the morning and you think it’s funny to mock my inability to imitate accents?”

“Sorry,” he says, unremorseful. Darcy’s eyes narrow.

“I know you’re lying,” she tells him sternly, “but I’m going to pretend you aren’t, because honestly it’s too fucking early for anything else.”

Bucky grins down at his porridge. “Whatever ye say, lass.”

She makes a soft and insulted sound. “Shut up and eat your damn porridge,” she orders sulkily. She’s pouting at him, bottom lip purses and Bucky, in a moment of weakness, wonders what it would be like to suck her lip between his teeth and kiss the taste of porridge from her mouth. He eats a generous spoonful of the stuff to hide his thoughts and blinks back the sudden tears of pain.

“Hot, is it?” Darcy asks casually, watching him with her keen eyes as she blows lightly on her spoon.

Bucky swallows, wincing slightly, and shakes his head. “It’s the perfect temperature,” he lies around his mouthful and Darcy laughs at him.

“I’d have thought you’d know porridge is on the same scale as potatoes and lava when it comes to heat retention.”

“I forgot,” he breathes, and swallows down the oatmeal. The aftertaste is strange; sweet and salty, and he takes another spoonful (careful this time) curiously. The porridge is thick and creamy- nothing like the gruel they’d get in Azzano- unflavoured by spice yet still tasty, the salt and sugar adding enough interest to make it pleasant. Unlikely to become his go-to comfort food, but still nice enough.

Darcy raises an expectant eyebrow. “Well?”

He swallows and clears his throat. “It’s good.”

“Better than what you’re used to?”

He laughs. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were fishing for compliments, doll.”

Darcy frowns, eyes sliding over to the stove and Bucky’s hand tightens on his spoon as he realises what he just called her. She licks her upper lip thoughtfully. “Say,” she says slowly, and Bucky can tell she’s trying to act casual. “You know who I haven’t seen around here?”

“Mm?” he hums, and braces himself for the inevitable.

“Captain America.” Bucky clenches his jaw. “What gives, dude? I thought all of the Avengers lived in the Tower?”

He sets his spoon down carefully. “He doesn’t, no,” Bucky lies carefully.

“Why not? That’s so weird.”

Bucky shrugs, internally screaming. “You realise _no one_ knows who he is, right?”

“Well, yeah,” she lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, “but I figured you guys would at least know who he was; he is your teammate, after all.”

Bucky stirs his porridge, avoiding her gaze. “I dunno… I guess he’s just a private kinda guy. Can’t say I blame him… who’d want the world to pin that kinda responsibility down on one guy?”

Darcy tilts her head, bowl of salty-sweet porridge sitting forgotten in her lap. “So you seriously have no idea who he is?”

“None,” he smirks at the disappointed look on her face, feeling inordinately pleased. “What’s wrong? Hoping you were gonna get to meet the Stars and Stripes?”

“I may have a… _teensy_ , tiny bit of a fangirl crush on him.” She admits, cheeks pinking. Bucky hides his self-satisfied smirk around another mouthful of porridge.

“Well I hate to disappoint you, hun.”

She shrugs, unaffected. “Such is life, I guess.”

Bucky smiles down at his half-eaten bowl. “Yeah, I guess so.”

* * *

“Do you ever wonder,” Bucky starts, staring glumly at the other side of the quinjet, where Natasha coolly checks and double checks her weapons, “what life might be like if the world didn’t try to go batshit insane every half hour?”

Natasha raises a brow at him. “… No?”

He stares at her, incredulous. “Seriously? _Elves_ , Nat. Darcy said there were elves trying to invade London-”

“Greenwich.”

“London- Greenwich- who cares? There’s an unholy amount of tea around either way. Elves, Widow. Space Elves.”

“So?”

Bucky’s not sure if she legitimately doesn’t get what he’s talking about or if she’s being deliberately obtuse. Either frustrates him; Bucky just wants to have a good old whinge. Is that too much to ask?

He scrubs at his face tiredly. “All I’m saying is, why’s the twenty-first century gotta be so weird? Why can’t our biggest problem be insane Nazi’s whose faces peel off?”

“Does anyone else think that’s still weird?” Barton sounds from the cockpit. “Cause that’s still fucking weird, Cap”

“Language,” Bucky says, and bites his lip in amusement when Barton makes a sound of disgust.

“Fuck you grandpa!” he calls back. “You’re the worst of the lotta us!”

“I don’t know.” Natasha smirks, “Steve on a bad day’s no angel either.” She runs her hand over her widow’s bites. “How far are we?”

“Why do you always manage to ask that _just_ as we’re coming in?” Clint complains, and the quinjet begins descending as if to prove his point. “Seriously Nat, you gotta quit it- it’s freaking me out,”

Natasha winks at Bucky. “It’s my superpower,” she drawls. Bucky muffles his laugh behind a loud cough.

“I heard that!” Barton calls out. Bucky laughs for real at the middle finger that pops up from behind Barton’s seat. “You guys are assholes.”

“Takes one to know one, Barton.”

“Oh my God- what are you, five?”

“Ninety-six, actually.”

Natasha closes her eyes, shaking her head. Clint makes a sound of frustration and the jet judders lightly as it touches the ground. No jumping out of planes for Bucky this time. “You’re both children,” she sighs, standing up.

“Pot- kettle- black,” Bucky grins at her before standing himself. He shakes out his shoulders and breathes in deeply, smelling the faint overtones of smoke and dust from outside as the door comes down. The amusement of a moment ago is replaced by a cool purpose and beside him Natasha and Clint seem to go through similar transformations.

“Right,” he says, tapping his earpiece to double-check that it works. The others copy him and he smiles grimly. “You know the plan.”

They nod and Bucky leads their small party out of the jet.

They emerge to chaos, though the worst of the action is half a klick west of their position (Clint chose to bring them down a little way out of the main conflict in the odd hope that they might avoid the worst of the tears in space and time or whatever). Their plan is mostly to contain the breach, just as they did in Manhattan, keeping civilians out of harm’s way from the invaders ( _fucking_ _space elves what the hell_ ) and allow Thor to battle the worst of the conflict. Not the best plan by far, but with Steve and the rest of their team stuck in the US with their own problems, it’s the best they can do.

Bucky watches in resignation as civilians flee past them, screaming bloody murder and dodging around cars left idling on the streets. He can hear the tell-take crackle and boom of thunder to their west, and the sky above them is a dark grey, clouds rippling and boiling like a witch’s brew, spreading out everywhere but the _giant fucking holes in the sky._

A laser shoots at them from a space elf a hundred yards away, missing wildly and Clint takes them out without even blinking. The elf crumples to the ground with an arrow sprouting from its chest. “This just ain’t our day,” he sighs, readying another arrow on his bow. Bucky can’t help but agree.

They split up, picking separate streets and jogging towards the University. Fortunately, there doesn’t seem to be many space elves around and they move quickly; most of the streets are oddly devoid of people, but Bucky can see the frightened faces of civilians peeking out of café windows and shop fronts. He leaves them be for now, struck by how different it all feels from the Battle of Manhattan.

Three space elves meet him head on as he rounds the corner and Bucky throws himself at them, shield slamming into one’s chest and throwing it backwards as he punches another in the gut. It staggers back, the armour plating on its chest crumpled from the force of his hit, and Bucky is struck by how oddly silent they are. It’s as though they’ve been put on mute, and the observation unnerves him, even as he snatches the laser gun from the third elf’s grip and tosses it away. He lashes out, kicking it in the chest and the elf falls to the ground. Bucky knocks it out with another swift kick to the head and grabs at the second elf’s arm before it can shoot him, pointing it back towards itself just as it pulls the trigger. It falls to the ground, lifeless, and Bucky grimaces at the smell of burning flesh and burnt metal that fills the air.

He seizes the arm of the last elf, recovered from his first attack, and throws it forcibly into a parked car. The metal shrieks and crumples beneath its weight and Bucky launches at it as it struggles to get back up. He slams his metal fist into its jaw and still the elf makes no sound, its head snapping back from the punch. It doesn’t get back up.

He breathes a quiet sigh of relief and straightens, glancing around the street. From the shelter of a café, a family watches him, wide eyed. The teenaged son is filming him with his smartphone and Bucky carries on before he does something embarrassing on tape.

As he rounds another corner, his ears pop, as though there’s a change in air pressure, and Bucky curses loudly in surprise when a young man and woman materialise out of nowhere.

A moment of silence.

“Um- what the hell just happened?”

The young man screams in shock as a space elf lands on a car behind them, crumpling the bonnet, and the young woman startles, turning to face him. She wears a deep maroon beanie and a grey coat, her hair straighter than usual, but he’d recognise that face anywhere. Bucky spurs into action as Darcy and the guy recover from their surprise, bounding over and tossing the elf closest to them headfirst into a wall. He slams his shield upside the head of the other elf that appeared and it crumbles to the ground, its weird face mask splintering from the impact.

“ _Cap_?”

Bucky straightens from his fighting stance, turning around to face them. She stares at him in shock, face pale and her plush lips stand out darkly on her skin. It takes Bucky a fraction of a second to remember that she’s not meant to know who he is.

“We need to stop meeting like this,” he blurts out before he can say something stupid like ‘Darcy run’ or ‘I want to fuck you against every hard surface in the Tower’.

Yeah… _definitely_ doesn’t want to go blurting that one out.

“Yeah,” she says dazedly, staring at him dumbly. Her pupils are blown wide, and Bucky hopes she hasn’t hurt herself.

Her companion gapes at the two of them and Bucky’s enhanced hearing catches the sound of thunder, reminding him that they’re currently in a battle field. “C’mon,” he orders, and turns back the way he came.

“You know Captain America?” he hears the guy asking Darcy as they jog through the streets, and Bucky resolutely doesn’t glance back as he leads them back to safety. The quinjet should be secure enough for them, he thinks, and far enough from the action that they’ll be safe.

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Darcy gasps, “I know everyone.”

Bucky smiles grimly at that, but it slips from his face as they round a corner and they stumble across another four elves. “Don’t you lot have better things to do?” he growls, and brings his shield up to deflect one of their lasers. It explodes the brick and mortar of the building it hits and Darcy shrieks in surprise from her hiding spot behind a car. Bucky readies himself for a fight, stepping forward to take them head on when a deafening roar sounds from the street they’d just emerged from.

Bucky curses and stumbles back as a monster leaps out from the street. Like a boar made from nightmares, it towers above the elves and roars at them again. One of the elves falls over in shock, the sound so visceral and loud that Bucky can feel it resonating in his gut.

“What in the world?” he breaths, watching in a mix of awe and horror as the creature opens its mouth and envelops one of the space elves. It shakes the elf like a cat with its prey, before pouncing up onto another building with its prize. Bricks crumble beneath the monster’s gargantuan grip and he jumps away from the worst of it.

Bucky and the two remaining elves stare at each other for a long moment (or at least, he assumes they’re staring), the shock of it evidently enough to still all three of them.

“Hey man, this is weird for me too,” he says glibly. In the distance, the monster roars and again, and he hears the sound of several car alarms going off at once. The elves start to move and Bucky snarls, bringing up his shield and kicking one straight in the gut. It flies backwards, landing on another car and he bares his teeth at the second. It holds up its weapon, ready to shoot and Bucky grabs them, body slamming it to the ground. He punches it in the head and the elf stops struggling.

“Watch out!” he hears Darcy shout, and Bucky lashes out at the elf trying to sneak up on him, kicking in firmly in the side of the knee. It topples over, laser shooting wildly and Bucky crushes its weapon in his metal hand. The elf twitches but doesn’t scream, still terrifyingly silent even with its gun crushed around its hand. Bucky knocks it out more out of mercy than anything else.

He stands slowly, glancing around, but he can’t see any more space elves close for the time being.

“Holy shit dude!” Darcy cries, and Bucky glances over to her at the sound of boots running towards him and he yelps as she launches herself at him, backing him up against a wall. “That was so _fucking hot_ ,” she breathes, face close to his and she smells like dust, wet wool and something sweet and floral and Bucky’s hands touch her waist on instinct.

“Thanks?” he says, and Darcy rolls her eyes.

“Shut up,” she orders, and then she’s kissing him again, lips slightly chapped but still glorious, tongue hot as she runs it over the seam of his lips and _wow_ _but he should really stop kissing this woman in uniform_ , but instead of pushing her away Bucky finds himself opening his mouth and meeting her tongue with his own. Oxygen feels hard to come by, the air around them crackling with heat and tension and Bucky holds back a groan when her leg slips between his, pressing up against him. He holds her tighter, relishing the warmth of her, noticeable even through her heavy clothes and his suit, and sucks her lip between his teeth, just like he’d wanted to do in the kitchen _weeks_ ago no-

The air pressure changes, and then suddenly the wall against his back is gone and they topple over, Darcy yelping in surprise as Bucky tries to avoid being kneed in the nads.

 “ _Darcy_?” a woman asks, and they glance over to her. Darcy’s eyes widen.

“Jane!”

“Captain America?” Doctor Selvig says, looking a little worse for wear and Bucky remembers reading something about him running starkers through Stonehenge.

“Selvig.”

Jane squints down at him, and Darcy levers herself off him. Bucky would be lying if he said he wasn’t sad to let go of her. “Do I know you?” Jane asks, sounding confused. Bucky hopes none of his sudden panic shows.

“Umm- I’m Captain America?”

Her puzzled frown deepens. “Why do you say that like it’s a question?”

Above their heads, something flies past them at great speed.

“Myuh-myuh!” Darcy cries, pointing after it excitedly.

Bucky swallows, and stands up, feeling young and awkward despite the gratifying way that Darcy gives him an unsubtle once over once he’s upright. In his ear, he hears Hawkeye let out an undignified squawk, almost drowned out by the sound of a familiar roar over the comms.

“ _What the hell is that?_ ” Barton screeches, and Bucky winces, hand flying up to his earpiece. “ _Why is there a- aw fuck- guys, arrows aren’t working on it!_ ”

“Hawkeye?” Bucky asks, turning away from Darcy and her friends as he speaks. Behind him, he can hear them talking about something. “You alright?”

“ _No I am not alright! What the hell is this thing? Oh my God I AM NOT A TOY- bad nightmare cat, bad!_ ”

Bucky glances down at the locator on his arm; he’s the closest, he realises, “I’m coming to you. See if you can distract it with some space elves in the meantime.”

“ _Mmph!_ ” Barton replies, followed by a string of expletives that Bucky _really_ hope no one manages to record. It was bad enough the last time the media got hold of that video with Nomad.

Bucky turns back to the group, and coughs awkward. He has no idea where his shield has gone, he realises. “I- uh-”

Darcy smiles at him brightly, and Bucky fights the urge to kiss her again. “It’s cool Cap- you go do your thing!”

He glances over the four of them. Selvig carries some odd-looking equipment that he hopes don’t involve stabbing people with to use. He loathes the idea of having to leave them but they’re simply spread too thin. “Will you guys be okay?”

“Oh we’re fine,” Jane says, staring distractedly down at the device in her hands. “Thor will be back soon- go save people.”

He nods, and turns to leave.

“Wait!” Darcy calls. He stops despite himself, and Darcy bounds over to him, pulling him down with a handful of his suit and kissing him again. Their noses bump against each other clumsily and she huffs a laugh as she pulls back. “Stay safe,” she tells him. Bucky nods mutely and she lets go of his suit. “Don’t die.”

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

She bites her lip as she smiles up at him. “And my name’s Darcy, by the way.”

Bucky bows his head and smiles back. “Darcy- it’s a good name.”

She laughs again and slaps his ass. Bucky jumps. In his ear, Barton shrieks again. “I know. Now get.”

Bucky gets.

“I can’t believe you slapped Captain America’s ass!” he hears Doctor Foster say to Darcy as he runs off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea when the next chapter will be up (I have so many fics going on rn aaaaaa), but expect porn. So yay.


	4. What's a Place Like You Doing in a Girl Like This?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huuuuuge and heartfelt thanks to [cutie-bug](http://cutie-bug.tumblr.com/) and [amidtheflowers](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amidtheflowers/pseuds/amidtheflowers) for Beta'ing this fic for me!!! As ya'll know, smut is not really something I dabble in much, and when I do I sorta/kinda/maybe get hit with crippling self-doubt, so it's nice to have such lovely people help me out ^.^ I love you guys!!!!!

 

Bucky does not want to be here.

Bucky really, _really_ does Not Want To Be Here.

The Captain’s Suit- usually at least passably comfortable- makes him feel nervous and exposed, in a way he’s not felt since he first put the thing on during the war. There are too many eyes on him- he can feel them prickling against his neck and his smile turns a little more plastic. This is entirely Steve’s fault. Bucky is certain he rigged the straws, because that _shit-eating_ grin of his was uttely untrustworthy. Bucky had contemplated demanding a re-draw, but decided on being the better man.

He’s regretting that decision now, as cameras flash at him obnoxiously, the plush red carpet beneath his boots feeling oddly insecure, and Bucky half wishes the pavement beneath it would collapse beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Whose dumb idea was it to invite Captain America to a goddamn charity event, anyway? And more to the point, whose idea was it to _say yes_ _?_

And why, for the _love of God_ , did he have to wear the _stupid_ uniform?

Bucky stoically ignores the throng of paparazzi as he ~~stalks~~ walks down the carpet; men and women shouting at him behind blinding cameras that press against the ropes as though they might somehow transcend the barriers. He’s done his poses- back at the start of the carpet- and that’s the most they’re going to get out of him. Most people- men and women dressed to the nines- seem to steer clear of him, intimidated by the Captain America persona, and Bucky’s not about to set them straight. Public events have largely been relegated to Steve since the ice; Bucky knows he’s been uncharacteristically grumpy ever since they were retrieved from the Arctic, but as much as he hates to say it- the war changed him. Events like these make him twitchy and uncomfortable. On edge.  

“Dude!” Hawkeye calls out, skipping a little to catch up with him. “Would you slow down?”

Bucky gives him a wide, plastic smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and the man falters slightly. He’s in uniform too, and his purple glasses make him look strange and eccentric. “No,” he tells him tightly, and continues walking. Hawkeye groans, but matches his stride, throwing the cameras a rakish grin and a wave as they go. “Where’s Widow?”

Hawkeye grimaces. “She said she’d meet us in there. I think somehow she’s gonna manage avoid the carpet. Don’t ask me how.”

Bucky sighs. Typical.

They’re met at the door by a statuesque brunette with a smile almost as fixed as Bucky’s. Bucky wonders if his cheeks hurt. Hawkeye hands over their invites and the man barely even bats an eye as he scans the documents, evidently already briefed on their appearance. “Welcome, Captain America; Hawkeye,” he says politely, and waves them inside. Bucky breathes a sigh of relief as soon as they’re past the doors, the glass sliding shut behind them and abruptly cutting off the cacophonous sounds of the zoo outside.

“Safe,” Hawkeye says mockingly, but when Bucky glances at him he can see that the lines of his shoulders have eased slightly, and his smile is friendlier when he directs it up at him. They walk down the directed route and through to the hall, and Bucky feels almost ill at the faux-rococo architecture, opulent to the point of obscenity. He sets his jaw, ignoring the countless eyes that fall upon them; he feels like a show pony, sorely out of place amongst the one-percenters.

“I feel like an idiot,” he growls beneath his breath. Barton looks up at him sheepishly.

“Be grateful we’re not in the suits Stark designed for us. I mean, don’t get me wrong; yours was _hilarious_. And I like purple as much as the next guy,” the archer shudders, a dark look crossing his face, “but that amount of purple was just _wrong_.”

Bucky breathes out slowly. He has a feeling he did kind of dodge a bullet with that one. “Where’d she say she’d meet us?”

“Who cares?” his ~~friend~~ teammate replies as his eyes fall on one of the smartly dressed waiters carrying silver trays of hors d’oeuvres around the room, like something straight from a movie. “I’ve just found my best friend.” And with that he abandons Bucky, trailing after the waiter like a puppy dressed in too much purple.

“Some friend you are,” Bucky says to his back glumly. If the archer hears him, he doesn’t show it, and he’d laugh at the way Barton reaches for the food over the waiter’s shoulder were he not so irritated. “Where the hell are you, Widow?”

To his dismay, the woman doesn’t appear, and his attention is quickly claimed by an opportunistic politician who identifies himself as the CEO of some kind of tech company. Bucky’s smile turns plastic again as he shakes the man’s hand, dying a little inside as he lauds over how much he loved the Captain America comics as a child.

Like opening the floodgates, the CEO’s introduction suddenly makes him approachable, and Bucky is inundated with well-wishers, admirers (platonic and- well- _not_ ), and the odd man or woman with more than just ‘making nice’ on their minds.  Bucky weathers it all with a patience he only vaguely remembers he has. Barton turns up every now and then (mostly when Bucky seem to be waylaid by someone with a worryingly predatorily look in their eyes), hands laden with food that he occasionally offers to share with him. Bucky’s given up on praying for salvation when finally- _mercifully_ \- Barton elbows him in the side and points over to the entrance.

“Look,” he tells him- a little obsolete considering Bucky’s already doing just that- and he breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of Natasha, looking resplendent in her deep burgundy gown and pausing at the doors as she gauges the rooms. There’s another woman by her side and- “Oh hey! She brought Darcy with her.”

Goddamn.

She’s exquisite. Her gown is a dark navy; fitted to the waist and falling to the floor in an elegant line that emphasises her generous proportions and the sharp slant of her waist. The bodice is intricately decorated in silver beads that glitter in the warm light, and the blue contrasts magically with her pale skin. “Damn,” he breathes. Barton giggles and elbows him in the side again.

“She cleans up nice, doesn’t she?”

His eyes slide over to him, suddenly suspicious. “Did you know?”

Barton holds his hands up in the air and shakes his head. Darcy hasn’t noticed them yet, but Bucky is certain Natasha would have seen them as soon as she walked through the doors. “Nah man! I swear- I was as in-the-dark as you are!”

“Ah-huh,” Bucky growls, not quite willing to believe him. He wouldn’t put it past the _spies_ to go meddling behind his back. “If I find out you _did_ know, I’ll set Steve and his disappointed look on you.”

Unfortunately, Barton seems unintimidated by his threat. “C’mon man,” he scoffs, “like Steve’s gonna side with _you_ on this.”

Bucky glowers at him, but has to admit that he’s telling the truth. Steve seems to be of the mind that Bucky needs to get laid- which, _okay_ , so maybe he does, but he’s not about to let any of them _know that_.

In his peripheral vision, he catches Natasha tugging at Darcy’s elbow, undoubtedly pointing the pair of them out and Bucky can’t help but turn back to them- aiming for casual and probably coming off as desperate, but whatever. He feigns widening his eyes, but his slight smile is genuine. _God_ , she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and _wow_ , but he is seriously gone for her.

Darcy flashes him a delighted grin, eyes lighting up in surprise and undisguised happiness and starts towards him, her stride purposef-

Oh-

Oh God.

 _Ohh God no_. There’s a split up the side of her dress.

It’s official; Bucky is going to die. He’s going to keel over and expire right in front of all these one-percenters- right in front of _Darcy_ \- because she is beauty and grace and a strappy silver heel and a long expanse of creamy thigh and everything he could ever want but can’t have because she _still doesn’t know he’s Captain America_.

Bucky’s life is unreasonably unfair. He’s sure of it.

Barton lets out a low whistle. “ _Dayum, girl_ ,” he murmurs. Almost unconsciously, Bucky makes himself a little taller, puffing out his chest like somehow it will make him the more attractive option to Darcy (who’s he kidding though; he’s already the more attractive option). Beside him, Barton huffs a soft laugh, cluing into what Bucky’s doing almost immediately.

“Not. A. Word,” he growls beneath his breath, and puts on his winning smile for the women as they draw near. “Ms Romanoff. Darcy,” he greets them. He kisses Natasha’s cheek when beckoned, and out of both respect and desire, does the same to Darcy. She smells of some kind of floral, woody perfume and he breathes in deeply as he pulls away from her. He doesn’t miss the way her eyes seem to dilate and she sucks in a sharp breath.

She smiles. “Fancy seeing you here, Captain,” she murmurs. Natasha raises a brow and is pointedly ignored by the both of them. “And in your uniform, no less. Expecting trouble?”

“You know how it goes; crime never sleeps.”

She bites her lip as she grins in amusement. “How’s life?”

He shrugs, smirking at her despite himself. “Life’s been good.”

Barton makes an insulted sound, evidently having enough of being ignored by Darcy. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

“Your words, not mine,” Darcy snipes back instantly, though she doesn’t take her eyes off Bucky. It’s an extremely gratifying feeling, especially when Barton scoffs in disgust.

“That’s the last time I buy you a coffee, Lewis.”

She finally glances over at him, somewhere between amused and unimpressed. “The last time you bought me a coffee, _Hawkeye_ , you lost your wallet and scrimped money off a stranger. And you _still_ got the order wrong.”

Bucky coughs, covering his mouth with a gloved hand to hide his grin.

“Aw Darce- that was _one time!_ ” Barton sends a pleading look at Natasha. “She’s being mean, Nat! Do something!”

Natasha rolls her eyes, but she takes him by the elbow all the same. “Why don’t we find you a server to faun over, hey Hawkeye?”

“But-”

“Free food, Barton,” Natasha says firmly. Barton concedes, sighing like she’s asking for his first born, and allows himself be led away. Bucky and Darcy are left to stare at each other, stuck in that awful place between familiarity and awkwardness, unsure of what to say, and yet half-content to simply _look_.

“So…” Darcy says eventually. “Not gonna lie- it’s mighty weird seeing you in your suit, when you should be- ah-” she rolls her eyes, exasperated at herself, “in a suit.”

Bucky laughs softly and scratches at the strip of skin reachable on the back of his neck. “It’s the identity thing. Got to keep it under wraps- even for events like these.”

She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, and stares pointedly around the room. “ _Especially_ for events like these, I’d imagine.”

He shrugs. “Yeah. How was- um- how was London?”

“Oh, you mean after we got rid of the dark elves?” He nods helplessly. “It was alright. Wet. Cold. Expensive… and a lot less posh than I’d envisioned. Was kind of glad to get back here.” She looks up at him, lips curling into a familiar smile. “I live in Stark Tower, did you know? I was disappointed when I learnt you didn’t live there. I-” she breaks off and makes an unhappy sound, glancing over to the side, where a young man with the looks of a reporter about him hovers uncomfortably close to them. She pulls her phone out of her clasp handbag (how does she ever fit stuff in it? Bucky is flummoxed). “Did you want to find somewhere more private?” she asks, face downturned as her finger flies across the glass with ease.

“For the love of God- yes,” he breathes before he can stop himself. Darcy glances up at him, almost surprised, and Bucky clears his throat and shifts where he stands. “This isn’t exactly what I’d call a fun night out.”

She raises a brow, intrigued. “Oh? And what _would_ the illustrious Captain America call a good night out?”

“Well for one,” he smirks, “it’d be a damn sight less crowded. Just good food, good company and a nice view.”

Her smile is soft, almost fond. “A man of simple pleasures.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky murmurs, gaze still trapped on Darcy. “Not _all_ pleasures are simple… You look captivating, by the way.”

Her eyes widen in surprise and he imagines hearing her breath catch in her throat. “Thank-you,” she says, and her teeth graze across her lower lip. “You look mighty fine yourself.” In her hand, her cell phone buzzes and she glances down, huffing at whatever she reads on the screen. She locks it and slips it back into her purse, before glancing up at him demurely. “Shall we?”

Bucky smiles and offers her his arm and she slips her hand into the crook of his elbow. He keeps their pace slow and casual as they cross the room, unwilling to draw unwanted attention to themselves (any more than a man wearing a Captain America costume can whilst attending a swanky gala, at any rate), and Darcy seems content to let him lead her.

“So tell me, Cap… why _are_ you here?” she asks as they walk. Bucky glances down at her, and the scent of her perfume reaches him again. He swallows thickly. “I mean- don’t get me wrong- it’s more than great to see you, but a charity gala for the Maria Stark Foundation seems like an unlikely place to see you in uniform.”

He shrugs. “They do good things and I was invited,” he says, keeping to himself the story about pulling the short straw. “It seemed polite to come along. Through here-” he leads her out one of the fire exit doors. It closes behind them quietly and Darcy takes his hand, confident now that they’re hidden. Her skin is cool and dry- from what he can feel through the fingerless gloves- and her grasps is firm. She rounds on him at the foot of the stairs, backing him up against the wall and Bucky swallows, overcome with a familiar sense of déjà vu.

“Darcy,” he says lowly, and he watches in satisfaction as her pupils dilate. His hands fall to her waist. He can feel the heat of her body through his suit- warm and comforting. Darcy grins up at him, and her fingers play idly with the star on his chest.

“One day, I need to know your name,” she murmurs. Bucky smirks.

“Why? Captain works as well as anything else... You could try ‘Sir’, too.”

Darcy’s mouth falls open, but her eyes light up in wicked challenge. “If that’s how we’re gonna do this, then you can start calling me ‘Ma’am’ again.”

“That so, Ma’am?” he breathes, leaning in close and breathing deeply. Darcy shudders, her breath catching in her throat as he nuzzles at her neck, nose nudging at her jawline. The air between them seems charged. “And what else would you like me to do?”

Darcy makes a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat that makes heat gather in the pit of his gut. One of her hands stray to the back of his neck, and her fingers are like a brand on the thin sliver or skin not covered by his suit. Bucky pulls away slightly and Darcy holds herself flush against him much like she did in Greenwich. Bucky smiles when she kisses him, lips soft but insistent. He brushes his tongue against the seal of her mouth and she lets him delve inside eagerly.  

She tastes inexplicably of grapes- sweet and slightly artificial- and Bucky recalls her love of gum. He laughs into her mouth at the thought of her chewing gum whilst dressed so elegantly, and in a moment of brilliance remembers the slit in her dress. He slides his hand down, grateful it’s on her left side. Darcy sucks in a sharp breath as his gloved hand slips between the part of the fabric- so light and soft that it catches on the calluses of his fingers. She pulls back just enough to look up at him, a gratifying mix of hunger and arousal on her face.

“If you wanna keep doing that, you’d best find us a place less public,” she growls, and Bucky grins down at her, unrepentant as he scrapes the back of his nails across her skin. She swallows, but the look of challenge is still plain to see in her eyes. “I mean it Captain- you find us somewhere a little less obvious, or some poor bastard’s going to walk in on a national treasure being defiled right here in the fire escape.”

He laughs. “Who’s to say I’ve not already been defiled?” he asks playfully, winking at her. Darcy raises a brow and moves away from him reluctantly.

“Who’s to say _you’re_ the national treasure?”

He tilts his head, eyes raking up and down her body in appreciation. “Good point.” He takes her hand and leads her up the stairs up to the next floor. He makes sure to keep an eye out for Darcy, mindful of her precarious heels (though she seems to be managing them quite well). Bucky had made an effort to pore over the building’s schematics this morning, and it’s nice to see his ever-present paranoia pay off for once.

He leads her out to a floor that is a damn sight less opulent than the gala hall downstairs, the corridor devoid of people, and something in his chest seems to loosen. “There’s an empty office just around-” they turn around a corner and he smiles in satisfaction, “here.”

Darcy snickers. “Kinky.”

He sends and amused glance, but grimaces when the door is locked. “Can I have a hairpin?”

Her eyes widen, but she plucks a pin from her hair all the same, smiling with unmitigated glee. “Are you going to _break in_?” Bucky glances over and her, and easily bends the pin out of shape, fitting it into the keyhole and working the lock. Natasha had shown him how to do it with a hairpin a few months ago, but neither Bucky nor Steve had had the heart to tell her they’d known how to do it since before the war. Darcy watches him work with wide eyes. “I can’t believe Captain America knows how to pick a lock.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he informs her with a knowing smirk. She bites her lip and Bucky turns back to the door so he’s not distracted- the gloves make his task a little harder, and his left arm requires extra concentration to be able to sense the minute differences in pressure.

“Hope that’s not the only talent you’ve got,” Darcy says suggestively and Bucky pinks slightly beneath his helmet. For a moment, he has his doubts as to whether this is a good idea, but then the door is unlocked and Darcy is ushering him through and slamming it shut behind them and all reservations are blown away. The room is dimly lit by the lights that stream through the frosted glass windows, sparsely furnished by a desk, some filing cabinets and a half-dead indoor plant.

He crowds her against the door and Darcy lets him, hooking her hands into his shoulder straps and drawing him closer. Her mouth returns to his and Bucky’s hand trails back to the split in her skirt, hand wandering back further than could ever be considered proper. Darcy makes a slight sound and pulls back slightly, resting her forehead against his as she pants softly. There is a faint _thud_ as she drops her handbag to the ground beside them.

“How- how did you want to do this?” she gasps as Bucky’s fingers wander beneath her dress, tracing the line of her underwear- a thin strap of lace that sends Bucky’s imagination into overdrive.

“How do _you_ want to do this?” he breathes, nuzzling at her neck again. He can’t get enough of the smell of her perfume on her skin. Darcy shudders, her breathing turning heavy as she arches up into his touch.

“Well, _sir_ ,” she says, voice breathy with faux-innocence. A shiver of arousal runs through him at the title; he likes it far more than he should. “I’d be ever so happy if you’d let me blow you. Among other things, I guess, but that would be a really _lovely_ start.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, somehow still surprised by her forwardness. Bucky doesn’t know when he’ll ever be used to it, to be honest. Hopefully never. “I could be amenable to that.”

She laughs, the sound deep and throaty. “Keep the uniform on.”

He raises a brow, though Darcy can’t see it beneath his helmet. “Yeah?”

Darcy nods vehemently, though she clears her throat. If Bucky didn’t know any better he’d say she’s embarrassed. “I- uh- I may have a teensy hard-on for that suit.”

He smirks. “Not the man beneath it?”

Her eyes rake up and down him, gaze searing in its intensity. “The man ain’t half bad,” she admits. He chuckles.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Bucky murmurs, and tugs her legs up to wrap them around his waist effortlessly. Darcy makes a pleased sound and her thighs squeeze his waist tightly as one of her hands splays across the back of his helmet, moulding her mouth to his again. Bucky loses himself in the kiss; holds flush against her; squeezes her ass firmly as he grinds into her. Darcy bites his lip in retaliation and he chuckles, pulling her away from the wall.

“Woah!” Darcy yelps against his mouth, legs tightening around his waist on instinct but Bucky has a fast grip on her. “Oh man,” she giggles, once she’s sure he won’t drop her, “that is so fucking _hot_.”

Bucky grins at her wickedly and deposits her on the desk. Darcy doesn’t bother disentangling her legs from his waist, and he curls over her, attaching his mouth to her neck and nipping lightly. She moans, head tilting over the other edge of the desk to give him more room and he takes it as the offering that it is. He tugs off his gloves and runs fevered hands down her body, relishing in the warmth of her. Darcy arches into his touch, fingers grasping at his shoulder straps with a strength that is surprising.

Impishly, he sneaks his hand up her thigh, beneath her dress again and slides his fingers beneath the strap of her underwear on her hip. Darcy’s eyes flicker open, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. Bucky gives her his winning ‘Captain America’ grin and grinds himself against her suggestively. His cock is almost completely hard, and the confines of his suit is _maddening_.

“I know what you’re thinking, Captain, and the answer is no.”

He tilts his head, curious. He’d pull away from her, but the tone of her voice implies that she’s not saying no to sex, perse. “No, what?”

“You absolutely _cannot_ break my thong.” She looks up at him sternly, voice brooking no argument. “Nor are you going to steal them, you hear me? I am _not_ going to walk out of this panty-less.”

He smiles and leans down to kiss her gently. Darcy sighs happily against his lips. “I don’t need a trophy,” he promises her, palm flat on her hip. She smiles in approval and wriggles slightly.

“I’m glad- I’d be kinda disappointed otherwise.” She wriggles again. “Now get it off.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He pulls away. Darcy’s legs hang off the desk, pointed toes just scraping the ground, and he slides the slip of lace- such a shockingly small thing- down her thighs, the slit of her dress falling open in a way that makes his mouth water. Women like Darcy should be illegal. He lets the thong fall to the ground and slides his hands back up her legs, watching the way her skin seems to twitch and raise in goosebumps at his light tough. His hands pause at the junction of her thighs and Darcy whimpers.

“You could- _hnn_ \- could just take the dress off,” she gasps, and he presses his thumb a little more firmly into the crease of her thigh, just barely brushing against her core. “It’s just a zipper- nothing special.”

Bucky regards her carefully. She’s a sight to behold; dark hair spread across the desk, beads glinting in the dim light. Her earrings- long, droopy things- glitter and spark when she arches her neck and Bucky doesn’t doubt for a second that they’re diamonds- Stark’s doing, no doubt. The dark blue of her dress looks almost black, and the contrast on her soft, creamy skin has the muscles in his gut tightening. She is torment and glory and heart-aching beauty all at once. “I don’t know,” he rasps, voice catching in his throat, “I’m kind of partial to the dress. Wouldn’t want to get it crushed.”

Darcy laughs breathlessly and her eyes open. “I think that ship’s already sailed.”

Bucky makes a noncommittal noise and the tip of his thumb brushes over her outer labia. Darcy seems to stop breathing altogether. She’s bare- a novelty for Bucky, but a welcome one. “Jesus.”

“I swear to God, Cap; if you don’t do something I’ll-” his thumb delves between her lower lips and Darcy breaks off in a sharp gasp.

“You’ll what?” he teases. She’s hot and slick already- or getting there, at least- and his thumb slides up to her clit with little resistance.

“I’ll-” she breaks off again. Licks her lips, eyes a little glazed. Bucky presses his thumb against the sensitive bundle of nerves and her hips twitch. She curses. “I’ll think of something later- just- _oh fuck_ \- don’t stop.”

Bucky smirks, and tugs her leg up with his metal hand to give the other more space as he complies. One of Darcy’s hands reaches up and tugs him forwards as he works at her, the position slightly awkward but tenable as he kisses her firmly. The air between them is superheated, and the faint thrum of music and people from downstairs mingles with their quiet gasps and Darcy’s bitten-off moans.

His arousal falls to the wayside as he loses himself in her body; the subtle strength in her thighs, the gentle curve of her stomach and the way her breathing seems to catch when he rubs at her clit _just so_. Bucky slips a finger inside her and Darcy makes a high-pitched, thready sound in the back of her throat. He grins into their kiss and it’s not long before he adds another one, her pussy so soft and wet.

“Oh God,” she whimpers, eyes squeezing shut. “I lied; you’re definitely a national treas- _ah!_ ” she breaks off as he curls his fingers towards himself in a ‘come hither’ motion. “Fuuuck- don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Hnn- thank fuck.”

Bucky snickers, but he watches her carefully. He thinks she’s getting close, if her laboured breathing and the funny way her hips seem to twitch intermittently are anything to go by. He picks up his pace and it’s not long before Darcy’s head falls back again, mouth falling open in a silent, drawn out moan as the muscles in her body lock up. He watches, spellbound, as she rides her orgasm, and diligently continues thrusting his fingers inside her until she taps out, body turned loose and pliant.

“Wow,” she breathes, eyes still closed languidly. He chuckles.

“Just ‘wow’?”

“Mmph,” she replies helpfully, and cracks her eyes open, just in time to catch him lick his fingers clean. Her eyes widen in surprise. She tastes musky- familiar and unique all at once. “That’s hot,” she informs him. Bucky winks.

She beckons him back to her with a lazy twitch of her fingers and Bucky follows, curling back over her to kiss her slowly. His erection presses insistently against his pants, but the mild discomfort is just an afterthought as he chases the faint grape flavour still present on her tongue. The kiss grows heated, and before too long Darcy is pushing him away and gingerly hopping off the desk, taking care not to stand on the hem of her dress. Bucky lets her guide him backwards, up against a wall and she leans against him heavily.

In her heels, she’s almost as tall as he is, and it doesn’t take her much effort at all to grind against him. Bucky groans, and he squeezes her waist softly. Darcy’s hands wander down the front of his uniform, ending suggestively on his belt, and Bucky nods mutely when she raises a brow in silent query. She’s quick to undo the clasp, clever fingers working out the mechanism in a matter of moments, and the belt falls to the ground with a heavy _thump_. She winces at the sound.

“There wasn’t anything breakable in that was there?”

“No, doll. You’re fine.”

“Good,” she murmurs, and returns her attention back to his pants. She fumbles slightly with the fly, but opens it easily enough, and Bucky tilts his head in askance when an odd look crosses her face.

“What?”

She bites her lip and glances up at him. “Nothing- I just didn’t think it’d be that easy.”

“What wou- _oh_.” Bucky’s knees feel like the might just turn to jello as her hand slips into his pants and grasps him firmly. “Jesus, Doll. You’re somethin’ else, ya know that?”

“Mm,” she hums, and sinks to her knees. Bucky’s heart seems to stutter in his chest, the look in her eyes warm and sultry as she gazes up at him. “I’ve been told it once or twice before.”

He huffs a laugh, and Darcy takes the opportunity to pull his cock free of his suit, not even bothering to tug the pants fully clear. He swallows thickly. “Did you- uh- want a hand with-” he gestures at his pants and understanding flashes across her face. She grins at him.

“It’s fine; I’ve always liked a man in uniform, and _this_ ,” she punctuates her sentence with a firm squeeze that elicits an obscene sound from Bucky’s mouth, “ticks so many boxes you wouldn’t _believe_.”

“Glad to help,” he rasps, and Darcy wastes no time on getting her mouth on him, licking at the gathered precum from the tip of his cock with broad stripes of her tongue. Bucky breathes out slowly; her mouth is hot and wet and so obscenely perfect when she takes him fully in her mouth that he could be half-convinced to set the world afire were she to ask it of him. Tentatively, he reaches out to touch her hair, but he doesn’t want to mess up the elegant updo that somehow has managed to survive the last twenty minutes. Darcy doesn’t seem to mind when he cups her jaw instead, and she hollows out her cheeks. Bucky groans quietly, urging her forward gently and the air in his chest seems to have disappeared when she deep throats him.

“Jesus,” he gasps. Darcy look up at him, mouth stretched wide around his dick and it takes every ounce of his self-control to stop himself from collapsing to the ground. She goes at a brutal pace and the small office fills with the obscene sounds. Bucky loses himself in the heat of her mouth, babbling words of praise to her like an offering as the pressure in his gut grows, muscles tightening.

“Darcy,” he gasps when he’s certain he’s reached the edge of his limit. “I’m close.”

Determination flickers in her eyes, and Darcy grips his hips and takes as much of his cock as she can, gagging only slightly as his dick nudges at the back of her throat. Bucky groans and cums, eyes squeezing tightly shut as he rides the crest of his orgasm, his grip on her face tightening when she swallows. “Fucking hell.”

Darcy hums around his cock and Bucky moans softly at the sensation. She pulls off him slowly and he sighs, eyes still closed as he works on regulating his breathing. Carefully, she tucks his flaccid dick back into his pants, and he slides down the wall bonelessly. Darcy, still kneeling, shimmies awkwardly closer and Bucky kisses her slow and languidly. She tastes bitter, the sweet grape taste of her gum long since gone. Bucky groans again and Darcy chuckles into his mouth.

“That was hands down the most epic thing I have ever done,” she informs him some minutes later. She leans her forehead against his shoulder and her speech puffs hot air across his neck. By some miracle of nature her hair still looks flawless.

“America thanks you for your service,” he jokes, and Darcy laughs, poking him sharply in the side. He can barely feel it through his suit, but he snickers and vainly tries to dodge out of the way anyway.

“Cheeky.”

“Mm,” he agrees, and runs a hand lightly down her arm, marvelling at the way she shivers at his touch. He wishes he could have this kind of intimacy with her all the time. “How do you think I got this gig in the first place?”

“Well it certainly wasn’t your language; God Cap, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Do _you?_ ”

She makes a soft, amused sound. “Fuck no.”

The office falls quiet, and Bucky takes the opportunity to simply bask in Darcy’s presence. He hasn’t seen her much- one of them is always off somewhere when the other is back at the Tower- buy it’s nice to be with her, and even if he’ll probably regret his actions fairly soon, he’s still running off the post-coital high.

Eventually, Darcy pulls away, picking herself off the floor on slightly unsteady legs. Bucky watches her wander over to her panties, grimacing at them where they lie on the floor. “You know on second thoughts,” she sighs, toeing the scrap of lace with her strappy heel, “maybe it’s better if you kept them; do a lady a service.”

 Bucky scrunches his nose. It’s not that he dislikes the idea. It’s just that the thought of keeping a piece of her like that doesn’t quite sit right. “If you want,” he says carefully.

Darcy sighs again, and wanders over to her clutch, crouching down to pick it up.   
“Well it’s not like I wanna put it in my handbag, but there’s no way on God’s good Earth I’m putting them on after they’ve been on a floor I don’t know.”

Bucky nods slowly. He can see the wisdom in that. “I’ll take care of them,” he promises, and Darcy sends him a grateful look. She leans against the desk again, pulling out a compact mirror and a thin tube of lipstick. He watches in silence as she touches up her lipstick- a pretty mix between mauve and flesh tone this time (and how on Earth did she manage to keep it from smudging before?)- and dabs at the makeup around her eyes with a tissue.

“How do I look?” she asks when she’s satisfied with her work. Bucky regards her carefully; her eyeliner is still slightly smudged, but not enough to be noticeable, and the line of her lipstick is crisp and clean. Even her skirt is miraculously uncrushed and Bucky marvels at the fabric.

“Exquisite,” he tells her honestly, and her answering smile is warm and soft.

“You’re sweet,” she tells him, closing her handbag and setting it down on the desk. He stands up and Darcy reels him back for a kiss, one hand wrapping around a shoulder strap as she tugs him down to reach her mouth. He cradles her face gently, his metal hand cupping her elbow and Darcy hums happily. Eventually though, she pulls away.

She smooths down the front of her dress and delicately runs a hand over her hair one last time. “I’d better get going. Natasha is- well lets be real, she probably knows where I am- but I’d best get back to her before she starts looking for us.”

He suppresses a shudder at the thought. Oh God- he’s going to get so much flack for this. Still, he smiles at her, feeling oddly forlorn to see her leave, though he’s certain it’s not the last time he’ll see her.

She pauses at the door and turns back to him, soft smile still in place. “Next time you’re at the Tower, you should come find me,” she suggests. Bucky nods mutely.

“I’ll try,” he promises, mouth dry.

Darcy winks at him and slips through the door, closing it gently behind herself. Bucky is left to the quiet hum of ventilation and the sound sounds of music reverberating through the floor. He can still feel her lips on his, and he does up his fly absently. Already, he’s trying to work out the best possible way to make this- _thing_ \- between them work.

He sighs heavily.

“You are so fucked,” he tells himself, resigned. Outside, a car honks in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bisexual Bucky Barnes 2k16
> 
> And OKAY so MAYBE it’s more realistic for the Cap to wear a cup but trying to navigate that was kinda killing the smut writing buzz, so shut up and let me have this :P


	5. Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky denies some conspiracies, and someone goes walkabout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy.... once again, didn't mean to leave a fic alone for so long.... but look! I finally got around to updating this! And it's over 9K!!!!! (one day I'll manage to write a 10K chapter... one day)
> 
> (btw, with footnotes, click/touch the footnote marker to read the footnote, then click/touch the marker again to take you back up to where you were before)

“So tell me Barnes, what are your thoughts on Captain America?”

“What?” Bucky looks up sharply, startled by her question. It’s three in the morning, both of them lounging on the sofa to watch the lights in Manhattan. The lights are dimmed, courtesy of Jarvis, and the bags beneath Darcy’s eyes are more pronounced than ever. Despite her insomnia, Bucky can’t help but love times like these, where’s it’s just the two of them, surrounded by the hush of the early morning.

Darcy blinks at him innocently, a look of honest curiosity on her lovely face. “Captain America. You’ve worked with him before, right?” Bucky nods warily. “Well- what’s he like?”

He swallows nervously, feigning nonchalance, but his heart is hammering wildly in his chest. “He’s alright, I guess,” he says, feeling terrified and unsure of what to say to steer her out of this forbidden territory without making her suspicious. “Bit stuffy, if you ask me. The suit’s probably too tight.”

“Too tight? Have you _seen_ the back of him?” Darcy smirks. Bucky fights the flush threatening to creep over his face, suddenly remembering the gala. Her underwear is still hidden in the back of his wardrobe.

“He’s got a great ass,” Bucky agrees, voice slightly strangled as he thinks of the few times he’s snuck a look at his best friend in the suit (never mind the peeks he makes of _himself_ in the suit).

Darcy stares at him with unmitigated delight. “ _Bucky!_ ” she exclaims, a broad grin on her face. “Did you just say what I think you just said? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“What?” he says, arms crossing defensively. “There’s no harm in looking!”

… Mostly.

“Well, no,” Darcy agrees. “But generally, you don’t get guys remarking upon the quality of another man’s ass. Particularly not if they’re straight.”

He shrugs and looks away. “Who said I was straight?”

God, he hopes Steve- or heaven forbid, _Natasha_ \- isn’t around to hear him right now; he’ll never hear the end of it. He’s never really talked about his sexuality to anyone- not before the war or after- but Bucky is comfortable with it. Not comfortable enough however to make it everyone’s business, and he’s more than aware of how some people view bisexuality.

Fortunately, Darcy only seems intrigued, but she must pick up on his reticence, because she drops the topic easily enough, turning her attention back to the topic at hand. “So anyway, Barnes- what do you know about him?”

“Like what?” Bucky asks warily.

She shrugs. “You know- the normal stuff- where’s he from, what’s he do when he’s not fighting, does he have a girlfriend?”

He raises a brow- there’s a faint blush rising on her cheeks, and Bucky wonders if she’s remembering the gala too. Not for the first time, he wishes he could just go out and confess to it all, because conversations like this with the woman are an _agony_ , and there’s nothing he’d like more than to kiss her and show her _just how much_ ‘Captain America’ wants her to be his girlfriend. “Not that I know of,” he says eventually, and his chest constricts a little at the way her lips twitch slightly, a satisfied look just barely present. “He doesn’t talk about himself much though. In fact,” he jokes, trying to make light of the situation, “I’d almost think he doesn’t like us, if I didn’t know any better.”

Darcy laughs, just as intended, and settles back down into her seat. “You know, there’s a conspiracy theory going around saying he’s actually two different guys.”

If Bucky had been drinking something, he’s certain he would have choked. “They _what?_ ”

“Right?” Darcy says, rolling her eyes. “It’s gone viral on Facebook- which of course as you know is a _highly_ reliable source of facts.”

“Do- do you believe it?”

“Hardly,” she scoffs. Bucky doesn’t feel much better, and a mantra starts up in his head- one long string of ‘ _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck’_. “The whole idea is patently ridiculous, though it would possibly explain why they keep his identity a secret. But their photographic evidence is hardly convincing- none of the pictures are in focus, which, when trying to convince someone of your argument is hardly sufficient.” She huffs, gesticulating with a hand as she speaks. “How is it that a national icon can only ever be photographed in grainy, shitty resolution? If it didn’t know any better, I’d almost believe he was a goddamn Bigfoot. It’s fucking absurd.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, voice coming out somewhat strangled.

Darcy tilts her head to stare at him over the rim of her glasses, some unreadable look in her eyes. “He’s _not_ two people, right?”

“Not that I can tell,” he lies.

She looks away, that unreadable expression still there. Bucky wonders what she’s thinking. “Hmm.”

Bucky stares out through the window, his reflection faint but clear enough. He looks troubled. He swallows and looks away, gaze falling on the television. “Did you want to watch something?”

Darcy brightens, smiling at him broadly. “Sure. Anything in mind?”

He shrugs, and the television turns on without his prompting. Jarvis is remarkably perceptive, though his omnipotence still creeps him out sometimes. “I dunno.”

“Hmm,” Darcy says again, this time staring thoughtfully at the television screen. “I’ve got a bit of a hankering for Lilo and Stitch- what say you?”

Bucky frowns, trying to remember where he’s heard that name before. “That’s a… Disney movie?”

“Sure is.” She grins, and throws a cushion at him. “One of the best.”

“Okay,” he says, not entirely convinced, but willing to watch it with her (hell, he’d be happy to watch _anything_ with her). He watches with wide eyes as Darcy lies down on the couch and rests her head on the cushion- and inadvertently his lap. Unsure of what to do but unwilling to call attention to this new intimacy, Bucky asks Jarvis to play Lilo and Stitch for them. Darcy is a warm weight against his side, and, almost reluctantly, he lays a tentative hand down on her shoulder, her skin warm and bare beneath his own.

Darcy hums at the contact, but she doesn’t seem averse to the touch, shifting a little on the couch to make herself more comfortable. The movie starts playing, but Bucky barely spares it any attention, too caught up in a terrible cycle of wonder, panic, guilt and despair.

 

 

She falls asleep before Lilo even manages to adopt Stitch, and Bucky doesn’t have the heart- nor strength of will- to send her back to bed.

 

* * *

 

“Um... Barnes?”

Bucky looks up from his tablet. Jane stands in front of him, wringing her hands nervously. He straightens in his chair; there’s a distinctly frantic air about her, and it immediately puts him on edge. “What is it?”

Jane presses her lips together unhappily. “Have you seen Darcy?”

“Not since this morning,” he says slowly, setting the tablet down on the coffee table. “Why- what’s wrong?”

“Oh- it’s probably nothing,” she says, eyes darting away from him. She runs a hand through her hair. “I just haven’t seen her for a few hours.”

He frowns up at her. “And you’re asking me why?”

She shrugs her thin shoulders. “She seems to hang out with you a lot- I thought maybe she’d decided to skive off to hang out with you- she likes hanging out with you.”

As flattering as it is to hear that, Bucky’s far from reassured. “When did you last see her?”

“Lunchtime- she went down to the Starbucks down the road to get coffee.”

Bucky raises a brow in confusion. “Isn’t there one in the building?”

“Darcy says she doesn’t like the coffee from there,” Jane shrugs. He bites his lip, glancing down at his watch; it’s six-thirty. Wherever Darcy went, she should have been back long before. He stands up.

“Have you tried contacting her?”

Jane nods, and Bucky’s stomach drops. “It didn’t even go to message bank.”

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

She wrings her hands. “It said the number was unavailable.”

He nods, his face belaying the growing panic inside. This has the potential to be very, very bad. “Okay- have you told anyone else?”

Jane shakes her head, looking more and more distressed. “I didn’t think anything of it until about twenty minutes ago- I was too caught up in work.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky says calmly, feeling nothing but. He stalks over to the lift, and Jane has to jog to catch up with him. “We’re going to find Tony, and we’re going to sort this out.”

“But what if something bad’s happened?” Jane asks inside the elevator. Bucky sends her a look that he suspects looks nowhere near as composed as he’d like. Jane laughs- a little nervously. “You’re right,” she says, glancing away from him as they speed downwards. “It’s probably nothing.”

Bucky doesn’t remember saying anything like that at all, but he’s not about to say otherwise. The doors of the elevator open onto Stark’s R&D level, and they walk out, Jane once again forced to almost jog to keep up with his long legs. “Stark!” he barks out as they walk through the large glass doors into his workshop. He hears a dull thump and a curse, and Tony emerges from beneath a desk, rubbing at his head with a grimace.

“Barnes,” he grouches, scowling at him. “I thought I banned you.”

“We may have a situation,” Bucky carries on, not bothering to beat around the bush.

“Well those are never comforting words,” Stark says glibly. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find Darcy,” Jane says. Stark’s brows rise.

“You’ve lost your assistant? Where’d you last leave her?”

Jane glares and crosses her arms defensively, but makes no comment about his derisive tone. “She went to get us coffee and didn’t come back.”

“So Lewis took a longer break than usual- so what?”

“That was _six hours ago_. And when I try to call her, the line doesn’t even go to message bank.”

“Okay,” Stark says slowly. “I can see why that might be cause for concern.” He pulls up a computer screen from one the desks. “Where did she go?”

 “The Starbucks down the block- the one on the corner.”

Stark frowns over at them. “Isn’t there-”

“ _Yes_ , thank-you, there is a Starbucks in the Tower, but for whatever reason, they don’t seem to like the people up in R and D.” She glares at Tony. “Probably because _someone_ tried to change their logo to _Starkbucks_ , without their permission.”

Tony points at her, unrepentant. “It was a perfectly reasonable request!”

“You replaced all their machines with red and gold ones and the mermaid with pictures of Ironman! The manager was in hysterics! They never get our orders right anymore! Darcy is convinced it’s a conspiracy.”

He grimaces. “Hence the other one?”

She nods. “Hence the other one.”

“Okay- and she never came back with the coffee?” Stark turns back to the computer screen. “Jarvis- did Darcy return?”

Barely even a pause. “No sir. Miss Lewis exited the building at eleven fifty-eight, however her return has not been logged.”

Stark blows out air slowly through his teeth and Bucky tries his damnest not to start pacing. “Alright, J. Pull up all the CCTV you can get your hands on in a two block radius.”

“Would you like me to run the facial recognition software, sir?”

Stark scowls. “I’d have thought that was implied.”

“Of course sir,” Jarvis’ cool voice says. “Far be it for me to try and read minds.”

Stark’s eyes narrow. “Smartass,” he grumbles beneath his breath. Bucky presses his lips together tightly to stop himself from laughing. If there’s one thing he loves about the Tower, it’s Stark’s snarky AI.

“Miss Lewis entered the Starbucks at eight minutes past twelve,” Jarvis says; his voice is cool and collected and does absolutely nothing to quell Bucky’s growing anxiety. Footage of Darcy entering and leaving the Starbucks shows up on the screen, her face grainy and shadowed. “She exited at twelve fourteen.” There is a faint pause. “Sir,” Jarvis says, the faintest hint of concern in his voice readily apparent to Bucky. “I have found footage from a hotel lobby that shows a woman matching Miss Lewis’ appearance collapsing at twelve fifteen.”

Bucky’s heart stutters in his chest. He feels like the ground has been pulled out from under him. He stares as a poorly focused video is played; in the edge of the focus, through the window of the lobby, a woman carrying something that looks suspiciously like two coffees stumbles and falls. She does not get up, and her body is quickly obscured from view by the people who crowd around her in concern. Beside him, Jane sucks in a sharp breath and covers her mouth in horror.

“My software cannot recognise her face,” Jarvis says apologetically, “however there is an eighty-eight percent likelihood that it is Miss Lewis. I have registered one emergency call made at this time, and an ambulance arrived five-point-three minutes after her collapse.” The recording skips forward to show the bottom half of an ambulance appear, and Bucky watches as the EMT workers exit the van.

Stark frowns. “Jarvis, search the local hospitals- see if there’s anyone under her name who’s been taken in.” He turns back to the two of them, looking concerned, but infuriatingly calmer than Bucky feels. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “Chances are, she just fainted, and they took her to a hospital for a check up. Stuff like this happens all the time.”

“It’s been six hours!” Jane hisses. She starts to pace, hands running through her hair anxiously. “If she was awake she would have contacted us! What if it’s serious?”

“Sir,” Jarvis cuts in before Tony can say anything more. “I can find no record of a Darcy Lewis being admitted to _any_ medical facilities within the limits of New York City. Mortuaries included.”

The workshop falls quiet. The implications of the finding are not lost on Bucky. A ringing start up in his ears, and he stares dumbly at the computer screen, watching as Darcy is lifted onto a stretcher and then moved to the ambulance and the crowd disperses. Wrong wrong _wrong_ \- everything about this screams of wrong. 

“Okay,” Stark says slowly. “This has the potential to be very bad. Can you run the plates? Pick them up from a traffic camera if you have to.”

Jarvis pulls up another grainy photograph of the ambulance, this time taken from a higher vantage-point; likely a red-light camera. “The vehicle’s plates are unregistered, sir.

“Fuck,” Bucky says softly, the word pulled from his mouth almost against his own will. His heart seems to stutter and falter in his chest and he breathes in deep and slow, trying to reach the familiar calmness that finds him in the midst of missions. He’d spoken to her just this morning.

Jane fares far worse, and when he glances over at him, he’s alarmed to see that she looks to be on the verge of hyperventilating. He strides over to her, grabbing her wrists with a gentle but firm pressure and pulls them away from her face. “Jane,” he says, voice surprisingly steady. In the background, he can hear Stark talking to Jarvis- likely summoning the team- but his focus now is on Darcy’s friend. “Jane, look at me.” She stares at him blindly and he squeezes her wrists softly. “It’s gonna be okay, Jane,” he says with a certainty he doesn’t quite feel. “But you gotta keep calm, Okay? Breathe, Jane- in, out- nice and slow that’s right. Good- you’re doin’ good. In and out- just like that.”

She calms quickly, and Bucky watches with fascination as she collects herself, her jaw setting as her eyes become clear and focussed again. “Sorry,” she says with a rueful smile. Bucky lets go of her wrists and smiles back. “Lost it a bit there.”

“It’s a perfectly normal reaction,” he says softly. Jane’s jaw clenches, and the tendons in her neck momentarily pulse.

“You’d think I’d be used to this kind of stuff by now,” she says quietly. “Seems silly to start panicking.” Bucky shakes his head, thinking about his own panic, pushed back far into the recesses of his mind.

“It’s not,” he says. “We all do it- the key is to learn to harness it. Or supress it.”

She huffs a mirthless laugh. “Right.”

Natasha, Bruce and Steve enter the workshop, quickly followed by the new guy- Scott. Clint’s apparently on vacation somewhere in Australia, last he heard, and Sam has the week off to see his family. Thor is… well who knows where Thor is. Not on Earth, at any rate. “Hey,” Steve greets them, catching sight of Bucky. “What’s up?”

“Darcy’s missing,” Stark says without bothering to look up, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Likely kidnapped.”

The three of them stand to attention, and Bucky watches as Natasha’s eyes go sharp; the woman’s fond of Darcy. Unsurprising, he supposes- everyone’s fond of Darcy to some extent or another- but their unlikely friendship had been met with no small amount of fear from the male Tower residents.

“Darcy,” Scott says, scrunching up his face as he tries to remember who they’re talking about. He’s only been in the Tower two weeks; ever since Sam caught him trying to break into an Avengers facility. “She’s the girl with the taser, right?”

“The very one,” Stark says. “A little chatty, and a little trigger happy, and maybe, possibly kidnapped and in a lot of trouble right now.”

“Show us,” Natasha orders, and Stark does, quickly explaining the situation. By the end of the story, the groups looks uneasy and unsettled, but determined.

“Have you followed the vehicle?” Natasha asks, striding over to join Tony. “Where was it headed?”

“Followed the camera trail as far as Lancaster, Pensylvannia before it went cold- that was about three hours ago. They probably changed over vehicles not long after- to what I don’t know.”

“So she could be anywhere by now?” Jane asks, voice dull and flat. Steve and Bucky glance over at her with concern.

“Within reason?” Stark says, voice matter-of-fact. “In all probability, yes. We picked up on it too late to be able to effectively catch them.”

“And we’ve received no contact from her kidnappers? No calls for a ransom or ultimatums?” Steve asks. He looks grim and resolute and Bucky can only hope he looks the same.

“We’re _sure_ this is a kidnapping?” Scott asks.

Natasha glances over at the man before returning her attentions back to the footage stuck on loop. “There’s no doubt about it,” she murmurs. “It’s too polished and deliberate a move to be anything else. And the resources they’ve used-” she motions to the fake ambulance, “- they’ve got the uniforms and the vehicle, whatever sedative they used on her, and they intercepted that 911 dispatch. Props like that don’t come cheap- I don’t think we’re going to be getting any kind of ransoms for her any time soon… if they can afford this kind of stuff, cash money is clearly not a priority.”

“Okay,” Steve says, glancing between Natasha and Stark. This kind of thing is a little too far out of their comfort zone- they’ve been in the future for years now, but neither are as immersed or fluent with technology as the rest of the team are. “So what can we do?”

“At the moment?” Stark says, eyes glued to his screen. “Not a whole lot. I’m running a program on the traffic cameras on all the motorways I can get a hold of, see if we can find any vehicles with plates that don’t match, and I’ve put out a search notice for the ambulance. If we can find it, then we might be able to work from there… otherwise… it might be grim pickings.”

“If it was a civilian who called the ambulance,” Natasha says firmly, “find them and bring them in. We might be able to get some witness statements about the people who took her. See if you can find any images of them and we can use that too.”

“Excuse me,” Bucky grits out, unable to stay in the workshop anymore. He leaves quickly, the blood rushing through his head a roaring sound in his ears. His hands begin to tremble slightly as he walks and he clenches them into fists instead.

“Bucky!” Steve calls out as he reaches the elevator. Bucky ignores him, pressing the close door button hard enough that the plastic creaks in protest. He hears Steve curse, and Bucky scowls when his hand sticks between the doors before they can fully close. “For fuck’s sake, Buck,” he says, the doors sliding back open, and he slips through. “You alright?”

“Does it fucking look like it?” Bucky snaps, knowing he’s being unfair, but there’s only so much he can take.

“Not really,” Steve murmurs, looking at him with naked concern. He touches the button to their floor and Bucky closes his eyes as the elevator accelerates upwards, leaning his head against the wall as he breathes out slowly.

“I just spoke to her this morning,” he says bitterly. “We watched fucking- Lilo and Stitch.”

The elevator slows, and the doors open with a cheerful _ping_ that grates on his nerves. “It’s gonna be alright,” Steve says, making no move to leave the small space. “We’re gonna find her.”

Bucky laughs, a harsh, mirthless sound that feels closer to a sob. “Don’t say that Steve. You- you heard them- the trail’s gone cold.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s going to stay that way,” his friend says, voice calm and even- much like Bucky had been with Jane. “It’s only been- what, twenty minutes- half an hour- since we found out? We’ve a team of smartasses on our side; you really think we’re going to let Darcy slip through our fingers?”

He breathes out slowly and straightens. “I’m freaking out, Steve,” he confesses. “I’m trying not to, but I can’t help it.”

Steve is quiet for a long moment, and Bucky tries not to fidget under his canny stare. “You’ve got it bad for her, don’t you?” he asks eventually. “I thought- God it’s been over a year... I thought, ‘cause you’d not done anything, that you weren’t that interested, but that’s not the case at all, is it?”  Bucky feels his face heat up. He shrugs, on the defensive.

“I guess.”

Steve is shaking his head. “You may be a better liar than me, but you’re shit when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

Bucky scowls at him. “So what if I do?”

“Does she even know who you really are?”

His scowl grows deeper, and it’s all the answer Steve needs. He shakes his head at Bucky, and he hates- _hates-_ how disappointed Steve looks at him right now. “How could I tell her?” he snarls. “It’s a fucking national secret, Steve!”

“Then you leave a lot of really obvious hints around the place!” Steve snaps back. “It’s not illegal if she works it out for herself! Jeez Buck, I thought you were smarter than that!”

“Fuck off, Rogers. You don’t know shit,” he sneers, and he stalks out of the elevator. Steve is hot on his tail.

“I know enough!” Steve says. Bucky’s upper lip curls as he storms through the door to his apartment, trying desperately to ignore the truths his friend is spouting. “I know you like her! I know she’s hot-to-trot for the guy she thinks is under that suit while you pine for her! Bucky- _Bucky look at me!_ ” Steve reaches out, snagging Bucky by the shirt and slams him into the wall, hard enough that one of the framed photographs of his family rattles. Bucky snarls at him, struggling to break free of his grip but Steve has always been the stronger of the two and the forearm he presses against his chest is immoveable. “I know you _love_ her,” Steve breathes. “I know you _fucked_ her in the suit and she has no idea.”

Bucky flinches. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do!” Steve growls. “You’ve wanted Darcy for months, but you’re too chicken shit to do anything about it! And you’re too goddamn blind to realise she’s into you too!”

His stomach swoops and he squirms beneath his friend’s grip. “She loves Captain America!”

“Which is you!” Steve cries in exasperation. “The _only_ times she’s seen Captain America is when it’s been you! But Captain America is just a persona- if you think she wouldn’t drop him in a _second_ for a chance to be with you then you’re dumber than I thought!”

Bucky finally manages to get enough leverage to push Steve off him and his friend goes willingly. They stand two feet away from each other, breathing heavily.

“I know you’re scared shitless about this,” Steve says, voice quiet and even as he watches Bucky warily. “I understand that you’re terrified she might end up hurt- we all are, believe me. But acting like nothing’s wrong- like you’re not affected by this- isn’t gonna help anyone. We’re going to find her, Buck. I promise you.”

He walks away, headed straight for the kitchen and the bottle of Asgardian mead hidden in the back of his pantry. Steve follows him, pulling two tumblers from a cupboard and he sets them down carefully on the granite counter. Bucky pours them both doubles, uncaring that Steve probably won’t drink much of his- more for him later. He falls into his couch and Steve follows, handing him his glass before sitting beside him with considerably more grace.

“You and I both know you can’t promise that,” Bucky says flatly, staring dully out the floor-to-ceiling window, much like he’d done this morning with Darcy. His stomach clenches at the thought of it.

“We’ve got a team of superheroes and superspies at our beck and call,” Steve murmurs, sipping his drink. “We’ll find her.”

Bucky takes a deep swill of the mead, closing his eyes as the liquid burns down his throat and settles in his gut like a lead weight. “What if they decide they don’t need her?”

“They put a lot of effort into that kidnapping, Buck,” Steve says lowly. “I don’t think they’re going to just throw her away.”

Bucky isn’t comforted by the statement. “We gotta find her, Steve.”

“We will,” Steve promises again. “We’ll find her, and then you can finally getting around to asking the dame out on a date.”

Bucky huffs a laugh, and takes another swill of mead. The strength of it brings tears to his eyes. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

 

* * *

 

“Bucky! Bucky!”

Bucky looks up from his bowl of cereal- he’s not certain how long he’s been sitting in the communal kitchen, but his cheerios have turned into an unappealing soggy mass. Scott is jogging across the room, looking excited. “We’ve got a lead!” he exclaims. Bucky stands abruptly, and his chair falls down with a loud _clang._ Bucky pays it no mind.

“A lead?” he echoes, something close to hope building in his chest. It’s been three days; Bucky’s barely slept- barely eaten. Steve had forcibly pulled him off the team, threatening to keep him wholly out of the search for Darcy if he didn’t start taking care of himself.

“They’ve found one of the kidnappers!” Scott exclaims. Bucky sucks in a sharp breath. “Natasha and Steve are bringing him in now!”

“That’s considerably more than a lead,” Bucky murmurs. Scott just shrugs. This is big, though. If they’ve managed to nab one of the kidnappers, then they’re just that much closer to finding Darcy. He’d wonder why he’s hearing the news from Scott, but considering how he’s been since Darcy was kidnapped, he’s unsurprised that Steve would keep him in the dark. “When are they getting back?”

Scott opens his mouth to reply, but Jarvis beats him to the punch. “Pardon me, but Captain Rogers and Agent Romanov have just arrived.”

“Where are they?”

“Basement level four, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky and Scott share a look, before hurrying over to the elevator, taking it all the way down to the basement (Bucky wasn’t even aware they _had_ a basement). The ride is filled with a taut and awkward silence, but he’s too caught up in the rising hope that seems to lift the haze of dread that’s settled over him to attempt any kind of conversation right now.

The elevator decelerates, and the doors open almost silently. Tony is already waiting for them outside. “They caught him trying to retrieve the ambulance,” he explains as they walk. “Apparently, it must be a pretty common getaway vehicle for them- I’d almost be impressed if he hadn’t been dumb enough to come and fetch it.”

“And who _are_ they, exactly?”

Tony grimaces. “Widow is pretty sure it’s AIM. Too methodical for Hydra.”

Bucky sets his jaw. It could be worse, he knows. Hydra’s not exactly known for treating their prisoners well; at least AIM usually wants their captives able to perform.

He looks around them- Stark has led them into a plain room with a large, window set into one of the walls- he suspects it’s a one-way mirror. It looks into another room that is undoubtedly made for ~~interrogating~~ interviewing suspects, with a steel table drilled into the concrete and uncomfortable metal seats. He wonders how Stark feels about having his very own dungeons in the base of his Tower.

Beside him, Scott shifts uneasily. “So are we… do we have authorisation for this?”

Stark spares him only a customary glance as the door swings open and they watch Natasha and Steve drag in the limp body of a middle-aged man. “Shield probably knows what we’re doing, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” Scott murmurs. Bucky’s unsurprised. For all that he’s a thief, and for all his time in prison, he’s still something of a soft touch. There’s a certain… greenness to him that sets him far apart from the rest of the team. He hasn’t seen death like the rest of them have. Hasn’t ever had to make a truly ‘tough’ decision. Hasn’t ever had to take a life, and the innocence of his presence on the team both endears and isolates him. “This is breaking, like, at least three different laws.”

“What’s wrong Lang?” Tony goads. “Afraid of a little vigilante justice?”

“So what if I am?” He glares at Stark and crosses his arms defensively. In the other room, Steve secures the man to the table with a set of handcuffs, and Natasha walks over to the window.

“Is Barnes there?” she asks, unable to see them through the mirror. Stark reaches over and turns off the mirror; Natasha blinks at them, before smiling coldly. “I think you’d best take Lang out of here, Barnes.” Bucky’s eyes narrow, but Natasha is unaffected. “I don’t think he should watch this.”

“Wait a minute,” Scott says, bristling at the implication. “Are you saying you’re going to _torture_ that guy? Because I am so _not_ okay with that!”

“Relax,” Natasha says softly. “We’ve got better things to do than pull some lowlife’s fingernails out. Torture’s rarely an efficient interrogation tactic anyway.” Her smile turns a little evil, and the three of them watch her warily. “We’ve got something far more effective, but it’s… messy.”

“You know what?” the man says, clearly unnerved by her smile. “I think you’re right- ignorance is bliss and all that. Bucky?”

“I want to stay here.”

“And I don’t want you to,” Natasha snaps. Bucky’s eyes narrow.

“I have a right to watch.”

“And I don’t want you fucking this up.”

“I won’t fuck it up!”

“You might. Face it Barnes, you’re too invested in this.” She smiles at him, all teeth and cold, glittering eyes. “Now run upstairs like a good boy.”

He straightens to his full height, towering above her, even through the glass. “Now listen he-”

“Bucky,” Steve says. He sucks in a breath, glancing over at his friend. The man stands behind the AIM goon, his expression unreadable, but there’s no mistaking the iron in his stance. “Do as she says.”

Bucky glares at him, feeling betrayed, and beside him, Scott tugs insistently on his sleeve. “Fine,” he spits, tearing his eyes away from Steve. He hates it when the guy pulls rank. He lets Scott drag him over to the door.

“Ta-ta, Barnes!” Natasha says breezily, turning away from the mirror. The last thing they hear before the door shuts firmly behind him is a sharp, fleshy _crack_ and a startled cry. Scott flinches at the sound and pulls him away with even more urgency, down the corridor towards the elevator. Bucky doesn’t quite understand his urgency; the walls down here are all sound-proofed to kingdom come.

“Sorry,” Scot apologises. Bucky tugs his arm out of the man’s grip, seething. “I- maybe I shouldn’t have told you.” He grimaces, unaffected by Bucky’s venomous glare. “If I’d known… I would have just waited until they’d got the information they needed from the guy.”

He breathes out slowly, closing his eyes as they wait for the elevator. “It’s fine,” he grits out eventually. Anger simmers beneath his skin, and he wants for nothing more than to hit something. “I’m thankful you did anyway.”

“Uh, right,” Scott says, glancing over at him nervously. Bucky tries to school his features into something a little more accommodating, but he doesn’t think it’s working. They walk into the elevator, and Bucky punches in the floor for the gym.

“You know,” Scott says cautiously. Bucky doesn’t spare him a glance, glaring at the doors as though somehow it will make them go faster. “If you- uh- if you ever wanted to talk, or whatever, you’re welcome to talk to me. I know we don’t really know each other, but- uh- friendly ear and all that?”

Bucky says nothing. If he were less angry, he’d probably acknowledge him with a response, but the only words likely to come out of his mouth right now are expletives.

Scott sighs heavily, and the elevator begins to decelerate. “Or not, I guess.”

The doors open to the gym level- an entire floor dedicated to it for the team. Bucky walks out without a second glance and the doors close. He spares only a moment to feel bad for Scott’s harsh treatment; on the whole, he rather likes the man. He has an earnestness about him that reminds him a lot of Sam, and his easy nature lets him roll with the punches like a pro.

Bucky wanders over to the lockers, stripping off his shirt and pulling a pair of bandages from inside, wrapping his hands with the kind of single-minded focus that can only be found in the depths of fury. The ground is slightly springy as he walks past the long line of exercise machines- weights, treadmills, rowing machines- towards the boxing area.

The first punch he makes at one of the specially reinforced sandbags is strong enough to make its bearing rattle alarmingly, but it doesn’t break. He hits it again, and again, and again, letting his anger and helplessness flow through him, aiming it at the sandbag but wishing he could aim it at someone else. By the time he stops, his hands ache but his soul feels lighter, and he moves onto one of the treadmills.

Steve finds him two hours later, looking more tired and careworn than he has any right to be. Bucky slows down the treadmill and Steve watches him carefully. He smiles at him when it finally stops, and Bucky tries not to focus on the way his body still feels like it should be moving.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. It’s true; he feels calm and settled, and for all that he’s worked flat out for the last two hours, his body is invigorated. “Hungry though.” He hops down from the treadmill, and the pair of them walk over to the showers. Steve waits patiently whilst Bucky quickly strips and jumps into a shower, the cool water a balm on his overheated skin.

“Did you get anything out of him?” he asks as the water beats down on his back.

A pause. “We did,” Steve says, he doesn’t sound as happy about it as Bucky would expect. “Not as much as we’d like, but we at least know the facility they dropped her off at. Natasha doesn’t think it’s where she still is, but it’s a start at least.”

“It’s more of a breakthrough than we’ve had so far,” Bucky says grimly. Steve hums. “When are we checking it out?”

Steve is quiet and suspicion sparks in the back of his mind. “Steve,” Bucky says warningly. He shuts off the shower and the silence that falls is almost deafening.

Steve sighs. “Natasha, Scott and Tony are already on their way there,” Steve confesses. A flicker of irritation simmers in his chest, but Bucky breathes out slowly, intent on keeping a level head.

“Covertly?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He sounds apologetic. Bucky tries his best to understand.

“If this turns into a shitstorm,” he warns. Steve snorts and Bucky rubs his hair with a fluffy towel.

“It won’t. They’re careful- and you know how well Scott and Nat work together.”

“Hmm,” Bucky says. It’s true though; the two of them do work surprisingly well together, for reasons beyond his comprehension.

He dresses methodically, and emerges still fluffing his hair with the towel. Steve smiles at him helplessly. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Bucky sighs heavily, but shrugs at him.

“It’s fine,” he huffs. “I get it- I’ve been- not great.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, and he tosses the towel into the available laundry hamper. “You’re pushing it,” he warns. Steve laughs and holds his hands up.

“Sorry- sorry. It’s good to have you back to normal, Buck.”

Bucky smiles. “It’s good to feel less like a piece of shit,” he admits. He joins Steve and together they walk back to the elevator. “I’m fucking starving.”

His friend laughs again, head falling back as he grins. “I think Bruce made some green curry up in the commons.”

“Great,” Bucky says with feeling. Bruce is a _very_ good cook. He points at the elevator as the doors open, smiling wryly at his friend. “Lead the way, Cap.”

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue.

 

* * *

 

Natasha, Scott and Stark return victorious later that night, with details and coordinates for Darcy’s likely place of residence. If it were left to Bucky, they’d have already left to recover her, but Nat and Steve are more reasonable, and manage to convince him that it’s smarter to wait for the next night. For all that Bucky hates it, he can see their reason; by the time they’ve finished working out the plan of attack, it’s the early hours of the morning and they’ve no hope of getting there whilst it’s still dark.

He’s less happy about the plan; Steve- as Cap- and Natasha plan to infiltrate the facility whilst Scott, Sam and Tony make a distraction in another part of the compound, pretending it’s just a routine sacking. Bucky’s ordered on no uncertain terms to act as the team sniper; with Clint still in Australia, he’s the only one best suited for long-range work, and Steve is adamant that he wants Bucky to have their back if things turn sour. Bucky accepts the position begrudgingly; he knows Steve wants to keep him out of the action in case he does something stupid, but he also knows that as the only other long-range specialist, he’s best suited for the job.

He spends most of the next day either eating, sleeping or working out, the restlessness that simmers beneath his skin tempered to something more manageable with all the exercise. By the time night falls and they’re finally able to get ready for the rescue mission, Bucky feels a little more human, unspeakably grateful for the dedication of his teammates and friends.

When the time calls for it, he puts on the Winter Soldier uniform with a practiced hand, the complicated straps and buckles almost second nature to him by now. The skin beneath his mask quickly turns sweaty and uncomfortable despite the state-of-the-art fabric beneath it, but the tech in the eyepieces more than make up for it. The weight of his rifle  packed away in his rucksack, and the firm squeeze of his uniform is familiar- almost comforting in its own strange way- but Bucky can’t shake the faint sense of unease forming in the back of his mind, like something’s going to go wrong. He doesn’t voice his misgivings to the team, but when he marches into the quinjet behind Steve- who fills the Captain America mantle far better than he ever could- Bucky makes a resolution to be extra vigilant.

The flight to the Aim facility- about a hundred miles south of Nashville- is quiet and fraught with tension. They’re all aware of what the stakes are for this mission; hostage situations can go sour quickly, and the last thing any of them wants is Darcy to be-

No.

He shakes his head and grits his teeth, just barely restraining the urge to start pacing. Steve watches him warily, sitting beside him on one of the hard, uncomfortable bench seats.

“Shut up,” Bucky says. Because he knows what Steve’s thinking; it’s the same shit passing through his own head on loop, the same worries and insecurities that have plagued him ever since he met Darcy- only worse, because now, _now_ , she’s missing with God knows what done to her and probability for success is only eighty percent.

“I didn’t say anything,” Steve says quietly, just like Bucky knew he would. He’s smiling faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“We’re gonna find her, and it’s gonna be fine,” he murmurs. Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Are you saying that for my sake, or for yours?”

“Mine,” Bucky says, because it’s true. He doesn’t quite believe it yet, but he’s always been something of a ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ kind of guy. “How long until we get there?”

“Ten minutes,” Natasha says from the cockpit. Bucky hums and wishes he could listen to some music or shoot something already.

The AIM base is a sprawling collection of buildings disguised as a chemical research facility, surrounded on all sides by a large stretch of green lawns and trees. Natasha takes them in low, towards the far end of the compound. The quinjet may be cloaked, but it’s not _silent_ , and any idiot with half a brain would be able to tell that something is wrong if their ears start popping and filling with a guttural whine. She opens the cargo door, letting Jarvis take over the autopilot, and they exit in the small window of time between patrols. Bucky watches the air around the jet shimmer as it leaves them, rising to a higher, less conspicuous altitude.

“Alright,” Stark says, the faceplate on his armour lifted from his face. He holds out his arm. “Antguy, hop aboard.”

“Antman,” Scott says in long-suffering exasperation. “It’s _antman_.”

“Sure it is,” Stark says, wiggling his arm pointedly, and Lang huffs and leaps at him, in the same moment activating his- whatever it’s meant to be called- and shrinks. He lands on the armour with a loud _tink_ , and they can just make out the faint shape of his running up Stark’s suit arm.

Tony’s faceplate slides back down, and his voice when he speaks is electronic and slightly distorted. “ _Alright Birdbrain, let’s fly.”_

“Birdbrain?” Sam says, pulling down his goggles. “Speak for yourself.” He pulls something on the straps crossing over his shoulders and his wings fly out. “Let’s go make a scene of ourselves.”

Needing no further encouragement, the pair of them launch into the sky. Bucky watches the muted trail of Stark’s arc reactors with a sense of anticipation. “They’re going to make an unholy nightmare of themselves, aren’t they?”

Steve grins at him. “Now,” he drawls. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

“Stark’s pathological need to make everyone know where he is?” Natasha smirks. Over the comms, they hear Stark let out a squawk of outrage.

“ _Ungrateful wretches!”_ he cries. “ _Don’t forget who your most benevolent landlord is!_ ” The three of them share an amused look.

In the distance, they hear the faint grumble of a patrol vehicle sounds.

“C’mon,” Steve says, nodding towards the back of the compound. “Let’s go; Soldier, you know where you should be.”

“Roger that,” Bucky drawls. Steve rolls his eyes, and the three of them break into a cautious sprint (if any sprint can really be called cautious), just as the first sounds of a violent explosion reaches them. Bucky watches as a plume of smoke begins to billow from one of the buildings towards the front of the facility, and Sam and Stark whoop with glee over their communicators. A siren starts up, and all three of them hear the distant sounds of urgent shouting.

“Children,” Natasha mutters as they flatten themselves down the shadows of the very last building; an ugly, squat thing with a sparse collection of windows. Absently, Bucky wonders how much they must have to pay for power to keep the lights up and running.

They come to a door, and Steve glances over at Bucky meaningfully. He nods- the weight of the sniper rifle in the duffle slung over his shoulder feels heavier than ever- and leaves them to it, skirting around them and trying not to wince at how loud it sounds when Steve ‘disables’ the lock on the door with the shield. By the time he glances back, they’re gone.

There’s a service ladder for the roof up ahead, and Bucky sighs in relief at the sight; climbing building’s isn’t his favourite pastime, even with the custom made grappling hook Stark had made for him. It cuts off just above the first story, and he takes a few steps back to make a running leap for it, landing on the lowest rung- and consequently the wall- with enough force to knock the breath out of a lesser man. The metal rungs vibrate slightly as he quickly scales it, toppling over the edge of the wall with little grace.

Once satisfied that the rooftop is secure, Bucky sets up his rifle with a quick and methodical efficiency, and sets himself up with the best vantage point he can find, ready for Steve and Natasha to return with Darcy; it’s his responsibility to take out any threats to the three of them when they come back out.

“I’m in position,” he says, voice pitched low. “Have you found her?”

“ _We’re working on it_ ,” Natasha hisses back to him. “ _This building has more floors than we anticipated; we have to scan each floor before moving on._ ” There’s the sound of a sharp _crack_ and Natasha grunts. “ _Stand by._ ”

Bucky grimaces but keeps quiet. Behind him, another explosion erupts from one of the buildings- likely Stark’s work _-_ and he braces himself as the shockwave- weaker, thanks to the mass of buildings in the way- washes over him. He’s grateful for the shock dampening earplugs[1]; waiting for his hearing to repair itself is a pain in the ass. Another explosion sounds not long after, then another two in quick succession.

“Stark?” he asks. “You lot alright back there?”

Over the comm’s, Stark laughs. It’s a little too manic for comfort. “ _Everything’s going according to plan- don’t worry about us!”_ Stark says. “ _Top Gun, Honey-I-shrunk-the-kids and I are having great fun! Nothing like a little wanton destruction to sooth the humours_.”

“ _Top gun?_ ” Sam cries in outrage. “ _That’s not even the right branch, asshole! I was air force!_ ”

“You know what, I don’t even want to know,” Bucky sighs, and he prepares for a long and irritating wait. He restrains himself from picking off any of the AIM goons that venture into his field of vision, their movements jerky and erratic with fear and alarm; the last thing he wants is to alert them to his presence- not when they want to make a clean getaway.

“ _Found her,”_ Steve says after what feels like an age, voice distorted by the several layers of building between them. Bucky could almost cry with relief. His grip on the rifle tightens, a comforting weight in his hands.

“Thank God,” he breathes. “Is she alright?”

A pause. Bucky’s mind fills with images of her being the exact opposite. “Steve?” he says sharply, almost ready to throw himself off the building and take after them. “Goddammit- _Steve!_ ”

“ _We’re fine!”_ Steve hisses. “ _Natasha had to deal with some agents. She’s a little kind of out of it though- I think she’s been drugged with something. They kept her in solitary- the room looked pretty dark._ ”

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath, stomach swooping. She’s fine, he tells himself firmly. He can focus on the other stuff later.

“ _Is the route to the quinjet all clear?_ ” Natasha asks. Bucky scans the ground, but he can’t see any signs of movement, even when he switches to heat sensors in his mask.

“We’re clear,”

“ _Right- we’re coming up. Make sure nothing gets to us,_ ” Steve orders. “ _My hands are kind of full._ ”

“Understood.”

Bucky waits with bated breath, body motionless but for his head as he scans the grounds. He ignores the gleeful chatter over the lines as the other half of the team wreak havoc on the facility. Once or twice, the building beneath him trembles with the force of an explosion, but it’s nothing serious enough to warrant his evacuation.

A team of AIM agents enter his field of vision to his right and Bucky bares his teeth, picking them off with vicious satisfaction. They’re only rapid action tranquilisers, but he can imagine it’s something considerably more dangerous if he wants. Two go down before the group can even understand that something’s wrong, and the group scatters. Bucky picks them off easily, before they have enough time to regroup.

Below, he hears the sound of the back door bursting open. “ _We’re out_ ,” Natasha says- through the comm’s and the open air- sounding slightly out of breath. “We still clear?”

“Yup,” Bucky drawls. He picks off another stray agent, too far away to even notice Steve and Co’s presence.

“Good.” Steve says. “Stark- bring down the quinjet.”

“ _Already on it,_ ” Stark confirms. The two of them break into a cautious run across the grounds; Steve carries Darcy princess-style in his arms, and Bucky watches her legs bounce with every bound for a moment before turning his attentions back to his watch.

He hears a shout from below just as he sees the rippling air around the quinjet appear, and without hesitation, Bucky pulls a pistol from his belt and hangs over the edge of the building to shoot the idiot just outside the doorway. The man crumples, as does the woman who comes barging out immediately after. The door slams shut after that and he smiles grimly.

“ _We’re safe,_ ” Steve says, and Bucky huffs a sigh of relief. “ _Fall back._ ”

“ _Get Barnes inside_ ,” Stark says. “ _We’ll catch up to you in the air._ ”

“ _Understood_ ,” Steve murmurs, and without needing further orders, Bucky packs away his rifle, slinging the pack over his shoulder and scaling the ladder as quickly as he can. Someone from inside the building shouts again in alarm and he bolts for the quinjet, bullets kicking at his heels ineffectually. The corners of his rifle case slam into his back with every step but Bucky doesn’t care, grinning at the thrill of it. He almost can’t believe how well the mission went.

The quinjet begins to rise at his approach, cargo bay door still wide open, and he makes another running jump for it. He lands with heavy _thump_ , his rucksack scattering across the floor, but the jet barely even moves. He walks over to Steve, breathing heavily as Natasha brings them up.

“Alright?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised at him. He’s crouched over Darcy, strapping her into a stretcher.

“Yeah, fine.”

Steve hums, and turns back to Darcy. She stirs on the stretcher, staring up at Steve blearily. Bucky gets what he means when he said she was out of it; she looks dazed, unable to properly focus on anything, and her hands bat ineffectually at Steve’s as he tries to strap her in.

“No,” she moans. “Go away.”

“Miss Lewis,” Steve says urgently, and she stiffens beneath his touch. “I’m trying to help you.”

Darcy’s gaze seems to sharpen, gaze focussing on the centre of his forehead, and Bucky watches as her lips stretch into a wide, loopy smile. “Cap!” she says. “I knew you’d come for me.”

And Bucky watches in horror as she reaches up with surprising speed, grabbing a shoulder strap on the uniform and tugs Steve down to plant a kiss right on his mouth. Steve stiffens beneath her drugged affections, and Bucky feels semi-hysterical as her lips move against his best friend’s insistently. After a moment, unsatisfied with Steve’s unresponsiveness, Darcy lets him go, frowning up at him in confusion.

“S’wrong,” she says, hand patting his jaw clumsily. “You’re not- where is he?”

Steve glances over a Bucky with wide, apologetic eyes, and Darcy follows the movement, gaze falling on him. He’s still wearing his mask- it covers the top half of his face almost identically to Steve- and Bucky can almost _see_ the cogs working in her brain, putting the pieces together as her eyes run over his face. Recognition flashes across her face and she sucks in a sharp breath.

“Bucky?” she rasps. Bucky crouches frozen beside her, unable to find a single word to say to her. If he could, he’d jump straight of the quinjet to avoid her.

As if linked to his thoughts, the hold fills with the whine of arc repulsors, and Stark lands gracefully inside the jet.

“Well that was fun!” he says, faceplate popping up. “How’s our favourite intern doing?”

Were it not for the sound of the wind and the engines of the quinjet, Bucky is sure the hold would be filled with a ringing silence.

“What?” Stark asks, glancing between the three of them. “What’d I miss?”

 

 

 

 

[1] <http://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2016/06/03/480173016/armys-smart-earplug-damps-explosive-noise-but-can-enhance-whispers> these are a real thing; they’re used by the military and will automatically protect your ears from loud sounds, but otherwise let you hear things normally. They’re pretty cool!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>    
> Have I mentioned that writing angry shouty scenes are my favourite? Because writing angry scenes are my favourite. :D hahaha #goingtohell
> 
> (Darcy’s not actually an intern. Tony just likes to call her that because he’s an asshole)


	6. Courage the Cowardly Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse, and then better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whipped this out in about two- three hours? I've been exceedingly productive the last few days; expect the next chapter of Drunk on the Gash of Sunset to come out sometime during the week. It's already written, but it needs to be edited ^.^

 

It shouldn’t be this familiar, really.

It shouldn’t be this easy, either, to avoid Darcy, though he’s managed far better than he did the first time.

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks since her return and Bucky hasn’t seen so much as a sliver of her since she recognised him and finally put two and two together. He’d be proud if he wasn’t so disgusted in himself. He’s supposed to be an _Avenger_. He’s Captain fucking America, for crying out loud, the fearless and righteous protector of the weak and the helpless- though Steve always managed the righteous part better than he did. He shouldn’t be holed up in his apartments or fleeing the Tower for hours at a time on Steve’s bike.

Darcy must think he’s pathetic- Lord knows Steve does, if his disapproving glares are anything to go by (and they are. Oh God, they really, really are). She must hate him- God, she must feel so betrayed- and the thought of seeing her smile sour at the sight of him makes him wish he could just curl up into a ball and die. He can’t bear the thought of it, so like a coward he hides from her, locking himself away where she can never get to him.

Needless to say, it’s a terrible surprise when she breaks into his apartment.

He hears the door open but thinks little of it- the only person with access to his rooms is Steve, and Natasha and Clint generally let themselves in through less conventional means. He groans into his blanket, curled up as he is on the couch. “Go away Steve.”

“No,” a familiar voice says, and Bucky starts, looking up as his heart begins hammering wildly in his chest. “You’ve avoided me for long enough, I think.”

Darcy stands in the foyer of his apartment. She looks angry and Bucky cringes at the sight of her.

“Darcy-” he says furtively. “What- what are you doing here?”

Her eyes narrow dangerously, and she marches over to him as he struggles to sit up. She drops three photographs down on his lap and crosses her arms unhappily. Bucky stares down at them- the disastrous selfie that started it all, one of Steve in the Captain suit, and the last of Bucky as the Soldier.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before,” she says. Bucky swallows, mouth dry as he looks up at her. She looks… furious. And hurt. “I feel like a fucking idiot… it was so _obvious_.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Licks his lips. “How- how did you get in here?”

“Steve let me in.” Her lips curl into a facsimile of a smile. “He said he’d had enough of your moping.”

“Darcy, I-”

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

He winces. “I wanted to-”

“That’s not an answer, Bucky! God- I mooned after him- _you_ \- like an idiot! And this whole time, it was really you? You were my friend, Bucky! Or at least I thought you were.”

“I couldn’t say anything Darcy- his identity is a national secret!”

“To hell with that!” she snarls. “At any point in time, you could have said something- hinted at it and let me work it out for myself! At the very least, you could have turned down my advances!” Bucky watches, helpless, as she paces in front of him, her words scathing and so very, very true. “I fucking _trusted_ you! God I- I fucked you! I- I let you _touch_ me, Bucky.” Her voice wavers, and God, but she looks close to tears. “I trusted you- both of you. And I- _fuck_ \- I _liked_ you Bucky. A lot. And then I learn that it had always been you and you- you don’t even try to apologise! Like I was just a fucking game to you! Just a stupid girl you could toy with as you pleased.”

“Darcy, no I-”

“Well fuck you!” she spits at him. “I wash my hands of you Bucky Barnes- you can burn in fucking hell for all I care!”

He throws himself off the couch, reaching out for her arm as she tries to leave. “Darce- please, just listen-”

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ” she hisses, and the venom in her voice shocks him enough that his grip loosens and she tugs her arm from his grasp. “ _Don’t fucking-_ just stay the hell away from me.”

She stalks away and desperate, Bucky says the only thing he can think of.

“Darcy I _love_ you!”

She stops in the doorway, and any hope he might have held at reconciliation shatters when she turns around to look at him, expression hard. “How could I _possibly_ believe that after everything you’ve done?” she asks coldly and his heart sinks.

He doesn’t try to stop her when she tries to leave this time, her words ringing in his ears like a curse.

“Fuck,” he says into the silence of his apartment. “ _Fuck_.”

 

* * *

 

“If it makes you feel any better, she’s not talking to any of us.”

Bucky groans into his arms. His mead-laced beer brushes against his elbow- cold and unpleasantly damp- but he doesn’t have the heart to move it. “I don’t know what to fucking _do_ , Nat.”

Natasha hums across from him in the seedy little bar in Brooklyn he’d run off to after his confrontation with Darcy. He had _hoped_ that no one would go looking for him. “I admit I’m at a loss for what to do for the moment too,” she murmurs, and Bucky looks up at her, shocked. She smiles at him ruefully. “We were just as complicit in this mess as you were, you realise.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t _fuck_ her.”

“No,” she says lightly. The neon lights from the bar make her skin look sallow and tired. It’s the worst he thinks he’s ever seen her. “But we still _knew_ what you’d done. And honestly if you think about it, we’re _more_ at fault, because I hate to admit it, but it _was_ a game to us. You were just a coward- we let it go on for our own amusement. And it was our fault the two of you met at the gala.”

“That fucking gala,” he moans piteously. “If I hadn’t- hadn’t- you know- then this wouldn’t be as bad.”

“Possibly not. But you did.”

Bucky takes a morose swill of his beer, closing his eyes as the Asgardian mead burns on the way down. “I don’t know what to do,” he says again.

“Apologising is probably a good place to start,” Natasha says dryly.

“I tried that, Nat. I even told her I loved her!”

She rolls her eyes at him, and snatches his beer from out of his grasp. She sips it cautiously and grimaces at the taste. “That tastes like shit,” she tells him flatly, handing it back to him.

“It’s the only way I can get drunk.”

“Sucks to be you and Steve, then.” She spins a paper coaster on the table. “It would probably help if you apologise again when you’re _not_ fighting. And don’t tell her you love her- it feels too much like an attempt at manipulation. Darcy’s far too smart not to pick up on it.”

He nods again and takes another drink. It really does taste like shit. “Maybe I should just leave her alone, like she told me to.”

“You could,” Natasha says. “But that feels a lot like running away again, doesn’t it?”

He grimaces. “Maybe she’d be better off if I did.”

“Maybe. But you know, it was always embarrassingly clear to me how much the two of you liked each other. You could be happy together, if you just pulled your head out of your ass and acted like the hero you’re meant to me.”

“Man,” he grouses, “you’re really shit at pep talks.”

Her lips twist in a wry smile. “And you’re really shit at acting like an adult, Barnes. Don’t we make a pair?”

He snorts. The alcohol is starting to affect him, his fingers and toes tingling, and his head feels heavy, like it’s rolling on his neck precariously. Maybe he was a little heavy handed with the mead….

He takes another drink. “I really liked her, Nat.”

“I know.” Natasha rolls her eyes; Bucky thinks it’s rather unnecessary. “You’ve made that abundantly obvious to _everyone_ in the Tower.”

“Not Darcy- she- she thinks I was just stringing her along.”

“After you avoided her for three weeks? I can’t imagine why she’d think that.”

“I don’t deserve her.”

Natasha watches him drain the last of his beer, apprehensive. “You’re a sad drunk, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Steve’d get angry, runnin’ up th’ walls itchin’ for a fight, an’ I’d jus’ get sad.”

“What a bucket of joy the two of you are,” she says dryly. She stands up, grabbing him by the jacket to make him join her. “Come on- I think you’d best get back before you do something stupid like throw yourself in front of a taxi.”

Bucky snorts bitterly. “Prob’ly do nuthin’.”

“No, but I’m sure you’ve give the taxi driver a terrible fright. C’mon Barnes, there’s only so many feelings I can express in a day and you are quickly pushing my limit.”

“You’re so nice, Nat. Why’s everyone scared o’ you?”

“It truly beggars belief,” she drawls. Bucky stumbles into the doorway on the way out with his metal arm hard enough to draw attention from the other occupants of the bar, but he doesn’t care. She manoeuvres them between two parked cars and holds out her arm for a passing taxi. It pulls over for them and she bundles him inside with only a few minor curses and sharp jabs.

“Stark Tower please,” she tells the taxi driver, and the man grunts in assent as she slams the door behind herself.

Bucky watches drunkenly as they drive through the streets of Brooklyn, searching for any hints of the world he used to live in, but in the dark all he can really see are blurred lights and his own reflection, his breath misting up the glass.

 

* * *

 

In the end, at a loss for what else to do to fix things, Bucky waits a week in the hopes that Darcy will be calm enough to listen to him and buys her a bouquet of flowers- a gorgeous mass of white orchids and tulips, blue and purple hyacinths, peonies and hydrangeas, along with a bunch of other flowers he doesn’t recognise[1]. He waits for her inside Foster’s lab- which somehow, miraculously, he hasn’t been barred from- and stands awkwardly in the middle of the messy space.

She enters the room at five minutes to nine, Foster in tow, the pair of them chatting in low voices. The pair of them freeze at the sight of him; Darcy looks surprised, but Foster’s eyes spark dangerously at his presence.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” the tiny woman snaps, moving to stand in front of Darcy protectively. It would be funny if he weren’t so nervous. “She told you to leave her alone.”

Darcy’s gaze lands on the flowers Bucky grips tightly in his hands, brows rising at the size of it; Bucky, in a fit of desperation, had made the poor florist fit as many flowers as she could that had anything to do with remorse and regret. He holds it in front of himself like a shield, watching Darcy carefully. Her eyes are ringed with deep blue circles, and he wonders how bad her insomnia has been at the moment.

“Could we talk in private?” he asks softly, eyes pleading with her as Foster bristles.

“No,” she says firmly, and he fights back a flinch. She steps around Foster, arms crossed defensively. “Whatever you want to say to me, you can say to Jane too.”

He breathes in deeply, steeling himself. He can do this- he’s faced down the Red Skull and certain death and survived. _He can do this_. “Okay... Darcy, I wanted to apologise. What I did was selfish and cowardly. I deliberately deceived you- I made you think we were two separate people, and I hurt you. That’s my fault, I know that, but I just- I need you to know that it was never done out of malice.” Darcy’s gaze falls back down to the flowers, her face expressionless, and determined, Bucky presses on. “I was scared- at first, I didn’t really know you… you were just a girl who flirted with me as the Captain, and I tried to avoid you in the Tower because I didn’t want you to work it out because I thought for sure that you would-”

Her eyes narrow dangerously. “Are you implying that it’s _my_ fault I never recognised you?”

“What? _No!_ ” he says emphatically. “God- _no_. None of this- nothing about _any_ of this is your fault Darcy. I was a piece of shit- I kept my mouth shut and let myself know you better because I was too much of a coward to tell you the truth. I- I… I took advantage of you at the gala- took advantage of your attraction to the Captain, and it was _unforgiveable_. I never should have touched you like that, and the moment you made it obvious what you’d like to do, I should have told you who I was. But I _didn’t_ , and I am _so sorry_ , Darcy. So sorry; you didn’t- you don’t deserve to be treated like that, ever.” He trails off. His apology feels unsatisfactory, but he doesn’t know what else to say without making it sound like it’s about him more than it is her.

The hard lines of Darcy’s face soften fractionally and Bucky lets himself _hope_. “Are those for me?” she says softly, pointing at the flowers. He nods mutely and holds them out.

“You don’t need to accept them,” he says, mouth dry. “You don’t need to feel obligated to take them- I’m not- not trying to bribe you, I swear.”

“White tulips mean forgiveness, doesn’t it”

He nods again. “And the orchids and hydrangeas mean sincerity, the hyacinths truth and sorrow… I think the florist maybe thought I’d murdered someone.”

She snorts, but takes the bouquet from him gently. The mass of flowers seem to dwarf her, and Bucky watches, transfixed as she brushes a finger over a pale pink peony. “They’re beautiful.” She looks up, glancing at her friend. “Jane, could you leave, please?”

Jane frowns at the dismissal. “But-”

“Jane, _please._ ”

She scowls at Bucky. “Fine. But if you need me, I’ll be just around the corner with Thor on speed dial.”

The corner of Darcy’s mouth twitches. “Thanks.”

Jane smiles back at her, and leaves, but not without sending another ferocious glare Bucky’s way. “Be aware that I know how to send you into the vacuum of space and I _will not_ hesitate.”

He swallows, and nods. “Understood.”

Jane leaves and Darcy’s shoulders slump. He bites his lip, watching her carefully and wondering

“You said you loved me.”

He startles, gaping at her. “What?”

“When I confronted you, you said you loved me,” she says again.  “Did you mean it?”

“Yeah,” he rasps, wondering how the hell he’s meant to breathe when she looks at him like _that_. “Always.”

“You hurt me a lot, Bucky.”

“I know,” he says. “And if you wanted me to leave, and never come near you again, then I’ll do it- I swear- after this, I won’t bother you again, I promise.”

She smiles at him softly and shakes her head. “No- it’s okay. I… want you to stay.”

“I’m so sorry, Darcy. I should have just said something from the start.”

“You should have,” she nods, but there’s no accusation in her voice. Carefully, she sets the flowers down on one of the work desks, and steps towards him. Bucky watches her like he would a wounded animal. “When I realised who you’d been… I thought it was some kind of cruel joke. That the men- _man_ I’d come to like had been laughing at me behind my back the whole time.”

“No,” he breathes. “I- _never_. _Never._ I kept my mouth shut out of fear, I swear.”

“I’m beginning to get that impression,” she says softly. She tilts her head, lips curling up into a smile. “For a superhero, you’re not very good at being brave, are you?”

He barks out a watery laugh and shakes his head. “Not anymore,” he confesses. “I used to be able to match Steve hit-for-hit, you know… but after the ice… I don’t know what happened.”

Darcy reaches out, taking both of his hands in her own, her neck bent slightly as she studies them. She rubs her thumb over his metal knuckles and Bucky feels the soft pressure of her touch. “Say it again,” she says suddenly. Bucky blinks at her in confusion. She looks up at him, and there’s a steel in her voice that brooks no challenge. “Say it again, Bucky Barnes.”

He sucks in a sharp breath in understanding. “I love you,” he says with conviction. “I _love_ you, Darcy Lewis.”

She shivers, eyes lowering to half-mast at his words. Bucky marvels at her reaction, and then wonders what he could do to elicit it again.

“I don’t love you.” He presses his lips together, nodding in understanding stiffly. Her expression softens, and she reaches up to cup his cheek. “I don’t love you,” she says again, “but I _like_ you, and I don’t think it would be hard to make that final jump, Bucky.”

His mouth opens in surprise and he blinks at her dumbly. She tilts her chin up at him, as though challenging him to say something stupid and ruin the moment. “You can kiss me now, if you’d like.”

Darcy’s laughter that bubbles against his lips is a joyous thing, and he cradles her jaw as though she’s made of fragile porcelain, her skin warm and smooth beneath his touch. He kisses her deeply, trying to show her in his actions what he feels incapable of expressing in words, and she shivers beneath his fervent. When he pulls away, her pupils are blown wide, lips swollen and shiny from his enthusiasm. She laughs again, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, preventing him from moving.

“Again,” she orders, breathless and lovely.

And- well. Bucky needs no further invitation than that, does he?

 

 

 

[1] White Orchid- sincerity; White tulips – forgiveness and a hope for rebirth and renewal; Blue hyacinth – truth and constancy; Purple Hyacinth – sorrow, seeking forgiveness from the person that is hurt; Peony – compassion and shame; pink and blue hydrangea – heartfelt emotions and forgiveness/regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank-you to everyone who's left a comment, kudos and/or bookmark on this work! You are all champions, as far as I'm concerned!!!! :D <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come and chat with me on [tumblr](http://cinnaatheart.tumblr.com/) :D


End file.
